


From Ruin

by jeejaschocolate



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, alternate universe as the story progresses, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeejaschocolate/pseuds/jeejaschocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the War of Wrath, Sauron reminisces on experiences he's had as lieutenant of Angband. He decides to come up with a plan to free Melkor from his prison behind the Door of Night. But is that even possible? Slash, yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fortress Defeated

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be driven by Melkor/Sauron slash. The pairing is one of my favorites in the LOTR/Silmarillion universe but this is my first time writing it. So, yay! I started with the War of Wrath because I feel like there is not enough information in the books on what Sauron was doing during that fight, especially afterward with all that stuff about him and Eönwë. Descriptions of what the characters look like in my head will come as the story unfolds, but there are some details in this chapter. I hope you enjoy! I wanted a little angst for this because I see their story as very bittersweet most of the time. 
> 
> All references belong to JRR Tolkien and his estate.

  
Chapter One - The Fortress Defeated  
  
He had been there. Of course he had.  
  
When the Vanyar descended upon Angband, Sauron had watched his home erupt into blinding light and violence. This violence, between creatures of the Valar and creations borne from the darkness of Arda, corrupted the essence of the fortress. It burned Sauron to see the sanctuary he had worked for centuries to complete become twisted as it fought for dominance over the Valar’s army.  
  
It was a fight he knew they were doomed to lose. Ëarendil had Manwë on his side, and Manwë worked for none other than Eru. No one could fight a winning battle against Eru, it was common sense. Sauron had planned all his battles to avoid such a fight. Yet, in the end, they had come to him. He could not escape.  
  
The War of Wrath was what Sauron named it upon seeing that holy light descend from the sky like a righteous anger. He had been forced to watch as Ancalagon was felled by a horde of eagles. At the time, Sauron himself had been in the midst of battle, taking down as many of the warrior Eldar as possible, but he had stopped to watch Thangorodim collapse under the weight of the dragon’s lifeless body. That image would burn in Sauron’s mind for the rest of his existence as one of the worst defeats of a creature he had ever seen. It was painful to say the least.  
  
After the dragon’s death, Sauron had given up fighting. Let the Vanyar take what they would, it mattered not in the face of ultimate defeat, but there was one thing that Sauron wanted to protect at all costs. He had to make sure that remained safe from the clutches of the Valar.  
  
Even then Sauron knew he was doomed to fail.  
  
Running through battles that spanned across the entirety of Gorgoroth it seemed, Sauron made his way to the front of Angband which had been sealed tightly from the inside. At the entrance, the loyal lieutenant removed his helmet and gauntlets, casting them to the floor without bothering to look where they fell. He ran his bare hand over the outer wall of the fortress. The whole structure seemed to shudder in response. Whatever spell had sealed this place, Sauron knew he was exempt. Angband itself was alive with the essence of its master; it thrummed with an actual sentience that was aware of who and what would hold congress with it. The wall where Sauron laid his hand turned murky like dark water and eventually faded into a thin film of plasma through which he easily passed.  
  
Even with so much chaos outside, the inside of the fortress was completely calm. The dark halls seemed their usual selves, with the exception that all candlelight had gone out, but that was nothing too out of the ordinary. Sauron ran throughout stairs and hallways, searching for his last hope. He had to find it, his one last chance, and then let events transpire as they would.  
  
Finally, the beleaguered lieutenant came to the deepest point of Angband. There was only one room at the lowest point, well below the surface of Arda and even deeper than some of the forges. It was his master’s secret room where was kept all things most dear to him. Though he visited it little, Sauron knew he would find what he was looking for there.  
  
The stairs leading ever downward stopped when he came to a floor made from surprisingly smooth stone. It was so black that not even Sauron with his eyes of living fire could see more than a foot in front of him, so he conjured a small flame in his hand and looked around. Aided by fire, Sauron could see most of the room. His orange and red eyes scanned all the objects. He could see an iron collar of some sort, whips of nine tails, metalworks forged by Aulë himself given as gifts long forgotten...  
  
Ah yes. Here, finally.  
  
Sauron hurried to his prize and hesitantly reached out to it. He had never actually touched it before and even now, in the face of defeat, it seemed somehow forbidden to him, a lowly Maia. Yet Sauron knew this was the only way, so he cast aside any doubt and wrapped his bare hand around the hilt.  
  
Grond. His master’s beloved mace. Sauron wished to offer Grond to his master as a way to remind the Vala of his ultimate strength. With this in hand, the dark Vala could cut a path away from the fight. They could leave, regroup, return again once some of the surviving orcs and Balrogs had been rallied, perhaps. It was a rough plan, but Sauron felt that Grond held some of his master’s own confidence, which ever since the start of the battle had been sorely missing. The lieutenant thought his master needed a reminder of what he could do and Grond, the instrument that had struck down Fingolfin himself, was the perfect thing.  
  
A shudder of power ran through Sauron’s physical body as he touched the gigantic mace. Such vibrating power like this could only come from one source Sauron knew. With pride he was reminded of who exactly had made this. It would require much of the Maia’s physical strength to lift it, probably no other creature save him and its creator could do it, but this was the same spirit that had once served Aulë in the first forges of existence, so he was used to some heavy burdens.  
  
Lifting Grond with both hands, Sauron felt another wave of dark spiritual energy flow through him, this one twice as strong as the last. It caused him to conjure an image in his mind of the source of this power, the Ainu who had melded his energy with the mace.  
  
“Melkor,” Sauron whispered to the darkness around him, seeing his master in mind’s eye. He said the name involuntarily, like a chant, as he felt the Ainu’s essence surround him.  
  
Upon uttering it, the darkness grew thicker and Sauron realized for the first time that actually this dark was moving. It was part of an energy of some kind. With a smile, Sauron realized that the darkness was covering the room on purpose. It had nothing to do with the room’s location, but was instead a smog-like blanket meant to shield something...  
  
The Maia turned around, still clutching Grond. “My lord...” he began, realizing his master’s shape in the shifting shadows at the far side of the room.  
  
The darkness cleared until the room looked as if it was lighted by twilight. Melkor stood wrapped in his usual black robe, still wearing his crown of Silmarils. Sauron was surprised he was able to cover the divine brightness of the jewels, but then, the crown was looking less bright these days with only two Silmarils as wreaths.  
  
Moving as if on air, Melkor approached his lieutenant. His usual pale, almost translucent skin shone in strong contrast to their surroundings. The scar along the left side of his face seemed to give off an angry vibe, as it often did when the Vala was in a terrible mood. The rest of him resonated with a strange kind of sadness that shocked Sauron. He had known his lord to be less vibrant of late, particularly since his imprisonment for three ages in Valinor, but he had never equated sadness with the dark Vala. Even now, when Melkor bore the name Morgoth and walked the world trapped in a physical form that had been battered by centuries of evil deeds, he still flaunted his pride as the mightiest of the Valar whenever he could. Sauron knew that deep down, his lord was over-compensating, but now it seemed like the Vala had perhaps let down the facade.  
  
Melkor stared at the Maia’s face intensely, so close they were almost touching noses. “What are you doing here, Gorthaur?” the Vala demanded in a voice the echoed around the small room. “Should not you be fighting alongside the rest of Angband?”  
  
“My lord,” Sauron repeated. He got down on one knee and presented Grond like a sword. “I foresee only one way out of this fight. Thou must wield Grond as thou hast done in the past and cut a path away from the onslaught of Valinor. They bring eagles and warrior Eldar as their hosts, but with Grond, thine most powerful weapon, I could lead thee out of their path to take cover. Together, we could wait and rally the troops another day. That is my advice, my lord, as Lieutenant of Angband.”  
  
Melkor stomped his foot in anger. The floor shook around them and Sauron had to steady himself to keep balance. “That is your advice, then? Flee?”  
  
“Yes, Lord Melkor. There is no way to win this fight.” Sauron closed his eyes, the sting of defeat burning him as well as the shame of having failed his Vala. He thought he might never recover, but right now they had to focus on getting out of Valinor’s sight.  
  
“Hmph,” Melkor took Grond with one hand and tossed it aside like a toy. “Do you really believe there is a way out for me? That the Valar will stop chasing me because I wield a mere mace that barely saw me to victory against a lowly Elf?”  
  
Sauron opened his eyes. The fire of his gaze flashed in the darkness. This was the first time Melkor had ever admitted that his win against Fingolfin had been a bad one.  
  
“No,” Melkor shook his head and turned his face to the left, so that Sauron saw only his fully intact side. That eye shone with an emotion the Maia could read only as a kind of sad realization. It occurred to him that Melkor had perhaps known he was destined for failure and that he had fought so hard for so long only as a way to defy the Valar who would have him in chains soon. How long had he felt this way? Why wasn’t Sauron able to see it the way Melkor was? Most of all, how could he help his master now that they were about to fall to their most hated enemies?  
  
“My lord...” Sauron stood up. His spirit burned with a fire that ignited even the usual fire that made up most of Sauron’s being. He longed to embrace his master, transform into a winged vampire and carry him out of Angband, wrapped safely in his arms. Any being in Sauron’s way would know pain. Fiery pain.  
  
But no. He could not. Sauron cast his gaze downward in shame and frustration. His spirit had never known such longing before.  
  
“I will...remain here, Sauron,” Melkor explained. “I...do not wish to be seen. Angband will be breached soon, I can feel the outer walls trembling in fear. When that happens...you must leave here, for I cannot.”  
  
Shock reverberated through the Maia. Leave his master? Unthinkable.  
  
“No, my lord. Respectfully, I will not.”  
  
Suddenly Melkor was so close to his face that he eclipsed everything else in his vision. Screeching in a sound like a hollow echo, the Vala burst out in reply, “Who are you to defy my will?! You know nothing of Valinor, of their chains, of Angainor the Unbreakable! What could a mere servant know of such things! Get out of here, Sauron before you find yourself trapped in the halls of Mandos where none enter save the souls of the cursed Edain and their filthy brood! Dost thou wish to mingle with such an unsightly lot and find thyself with no choice but to renounce my name after ages upon ages of torment?”  
  
Melkor paused for a second, just to catch his breath. His words made little sense to Sauron, and to himself as well, but he was speaking out of anger and fear so great he thought he would go mad. The Vala calmed down slightly and took a step back.  
  
“No,” he continued. “I will not see it happen. Sauron you must leave before Manwë’s army arrives. The eagles...their horrible claws...” He touched a hand to his disfigured face. “You do not wish to see it. I know, yes I know, that Ancalagon has fallen to them. His loss is unthinkable to me right now, and I cannot imagine heavier damage than that, except of course for y--” Before he could finish that sentence, a sentence that had Sauron’s fire turning almost blue it burned so hot, they both felt the entire structure quake around them menacingly.  
  
Angband had been breached. Melkor screamed and collapsed. The fortress being a part of himself, the attacks that landed on its walls were like attacks to Melkor’s own body. He spat out a mouthful of blood onto the floor and dug his nails into the stone so hard they left a trail of deep groves.  
  
Sauron knelt beside him. He put out one hand tentatively, and let it rest on Melkor’s back. He stroked the Vala’s long black hair. That hair had once flown like molten lava but now it shone black like lava that has been cooled and crusted over with time. It quivered with his body as it shook. Briefly, Sauron tried to think of something, or someone, that could help his master, but his knowledge of healing was precisely zero.  
  
“Leave me...” Melkor choked out. “It’s over, Sauron. Angband was beautiful in its might, nay the mightiest and most beautiful of all the structures that Eru himself has ever laid eyes on. Remember that. If you...if thou goest on to create a structure of thine own...make sure you remember Angband and how all trembled to behold it.”  
  
Sauron let his arm fall around Melkor’s shoulders. The thin frame of the Vala shook again and he spat out some more blood. They could hear sounds crashing above them as the Vanyar and the Edain armies defiled their home. Such torment of all that he loved caused Sauron some kind of fracture internally. He would never again have such devotion to a place as he did to Angband.  
  
“Fear...that’s what it is, Sauron...” Melkor sputtered out more words as their time wore short. Sauron could see his master’s hands shaking, from fear or injury he could not be certain. “Fear and desire...that’s what it means...to...”  
  
But Melkor never finished his sentence because at that point they heard pounding footsteps on the stairs above them as the army approached. Just before they entered, Melkor hissed “GO!” in Sauron’s ear and then stabbed the back of his lieutenant’s neck with has hand. Reaching into the Maia’s physical form, he grabbed Sauron’s soul and ripped it out of his flesh envelope. The act caused Sauron no harm, but it forced him to disembody into his spirit form and become invisible to the oncoming force of Eönwë and his men.  
  
Floating as a disembodied Ainu, Sauron was forced to watch as they bound his lord in heavy chains and snapped his crown into a collar to fasten around his neck. Melkor said nothing, until they cut off his feet at the ankles. At that the Vala cried out and begged for mercy. Enduring such pain as a mortal would, Sauron could only imagine his lord’s suffering and shame. It caused the Maia’s soul to fray around the edges in sorrow and longing. He had been called Gorthaur the Cruel in the past, but from then on he took no such name. The word “cruel” itself was forever shadowed in Sauron’s mind by the imagine of his lord abused and maimed in front of the self-righteous and false servants of the Valar.    
  
_____________________________________________________________________  
  
Now Sauron sat among the ruins of Thangorodrim. He had taken the form of a wolf, in part a disguise in case any Vanyar remained to scout for survivors of the turmoil, and in part because he felt more comfortable as a beast at the moment. He sniffed around the piles of rubble, searching for any Balrogs that were perhaps still lingering on their last bits of life, crushed under the rock. He had vaguely decided to follow through with the plan of rallying any remaining forces, but that was looking grimmer by the second as he had yet found none alive.  
  
Finally he came upon the body of Ancalagon. Black scales littered the ground around him, creating a wreath of what looked like black petals around the corpse. It was surprisingly poignant. Sauron sat on his haunches and howled quietly. He wanted to grieve properly for the dragon, who had been Melkor’s favorite by far, even more so than Glaurung who had proven to be somewhat traitorous. Yet, Sauron could not give the proper respects being on the losing side of the battle. That angered him.  
  
Truthfully, Sauron was not used to losing. Sure, they had had some difficult times in the past, the word Utumno brought some memories to mind. But even then, when Melkor was imprisoned he had left behind forces, an army for Sauron to assume command over and create murmurings of evil in his stead. Where were the whips of the Balrogs to inspire fear in the fragile Elves that now had free roam throughout Beleriand? Where were the orcs who did whatever they were told without question or will of their own because they existed simply to do as the dark lord commanded? Carcharoth and the rest of the wolves, his own personal army. He sorely missed them now.  
  
Sauron took a moment to lay his head on his massive paws. He needed to think. Since he had joined sides with Melkor all those ages ago, Sauron had ever been the one to devise the plans. Melkor was a god who acted on impulse; he was the definition of chaos by his very nature and therefore followed no plan but his own will as it followe from second to second. Sauron had been the one to guide him through strategy, whenever Melkor was willing to listen. Many of their victories had in fact been Sauron’s victories, but the lieutenant saw no difference between naming it one or the other. He had always given prudence to everything his lord desired, capricious as the requests often were. Melkor would name the prize and Sauron would retrieve it for the praise and respect of the Ainu that Sauron worshiped above all. The system worked. Now, with Melkor gone, the bereft Maia did not know what move to make next. What was the goal? Where was the prize for him to obtain?  
  
The black, shaggy wolf closed its red eyes. In truth, he was not ready to abandon his lord to torment and despair. The image of Eönwë dragging a bleeding Melkor out of Angband was not one Sauron would soon forget. He had to figure out a way...devise some kind of strategy to get Melkor out of the clutches of the Valar.  
  
But how? What could be done now that there were no creatures left in the dark army?  
  
The wolf laid on its side in defeat. Next to the body of Ancalagon, he looked miniscule, slightly bigger than one of the scales that had fallen off of him. Sauron was content for a moment to feel small, hidden among company he had kept in the past, dead though it was.  
  
Sauron let his eyes return to their normal fiery state. Opening his eyes slightly, small flames licked outward from under heavy lids. The Maia let his mind roam where it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Note on the language: I was debating whether or not to use language like "Thou" and "thy" etc. I know, in the Silmarillion, the Valar and most characters talk that way, but I feel like normal speech is a little more natural for dialogue. So I decided to make it based on character. Sauron would always be as respectful and traditional as possible, so he uses the older way of speaking, but I see Melkor as bending the rules a little bit and trying "modern" speech to be contrary. Sometimes he slips back into the traditional though because that's how he's supposed to talk and he forgets (because he's Melkor). 
> 
> Chapter two coming soon (hopefully)!


	2. A Wandering Maia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron hopes to heal some of his wounds by visiting an old stronghold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot about Tol Sirion in it because I always wondered, what the heck ever happened to Tol Sirion after Sauron left? No one seems to care about it once the Luthien chapter ends. So many questions! This is my version of what might have happened to it.

Chapter Two -  A Wandering Maia  
  
Sauron roamed Beleriand as a vagrant, a meandering wolf that knew not where it belonged. He had summoned almost all of his remaining willpower to leave the side of Ancalagon, after how many days he knew not. Since then, he had remained in his wolf form, letting animal instinct guide him where it would. Sauron watched as if from a distance as his feet moved and the surroundings changed. Gradually, the mountains of Gorgoroth turned into trees, then trees into an unexpected riverbed. He found himself at the banks of the river Sirion.  
  
The deposed lieutenant had never wholly experienced grief as he did now, but he had certainly known disappointment and a kind of embarrassed sadness that came only with defeat. The last time his soul had frayed and withered from such defeat had been at Tol-in-Gaurhoth at the hands of Lúthien. Ah yes, Lúthien the Spiteful, as he would call her. That was a name he would never forget for a number of reasons.  
  
Sauron stopped at the riverbank and sat down. He was not mortal and therefore had no need to drink, but the thought possessed him that he could catch a fish or some kind of animal that lived in the river. Perhaps crushing the life out of a smaller, more helpless creature would ease his pitiful suffering in part. Feeling bones snap beneath the weight of his jaws might restore his faith in his ability to force others into submission. The wolf peered into the water, hoping to find life in its depths. On the surface of the flowing water, he saw not his own reflection, but instead the face of Lúthien herself, daughter of Melian.  
  
She was as beautiful as the legends said, of course, but Sauron would never remember her that way. He knew only the snapshot of a pale white face burning with anger and bloodlust as she stared him down, his own throat caught in the jaws of the mighty Huan. That enraged, vengeful she-Elf had defeated him completely and he had been forced to surrender Tol-in-Gaurhoth. The tower that had once been called Tol Sirion had reassumed its name after that. Or so he assumed....  
  
Realizing a course of action, Sauron swatted the river’s surface, forcing the image to dissolve and reshape into his own shaggy visage. He knew it was merely his memories that had stared up at him, but he had no desire to reminisce about that cold white face any longer than necessary. Instead, the Maia decided to venture towards Tol Sirion and see what had become of the place since he had abandoned it. Surely the likes of the Elves in Doriath had reclaimed the place, but he had neither heard nor espied anything in the area since the wolves had fled. It was likely that the Eldar had left it abandoned, forgetting about its significance in the wake of stronger and better pursuits, probably the recapture of the Silmarils. What a waste. None of Melkor’s creatures dared to venture there because Lúthien had left a strong mark of elvish purity in her wake. Sauron now wanted to see for himself what such a mark could do. He had no fear. There was not much left hanging in the balance for him to concede if any harm should befall him, except for his own existence which was probably worth surprisingly little now that Melkor was taken and his power dispersed.  
  
Actually, Sauron did not know if the Valar were looking for him or not. He assumed no because he commanded no forces at the moment. How could one Maia, bereft of the Vala it served, hold any consequence to Valinor? Yet, something in his spirit told him that he was being watched. The lieutenant had learned always to trust the slightest change in the scent of the wind, or a shadow that moved without any change in the scenery, or a perceived murmur slightly out of earshot that made his head turn nonetheless. Listening to the whispers of Arda was something Sauron learned from Melkor. The Vala had made himself impure by joining with Arda countless times, so many in fact that he had unavoidably fused a part of his spirit with the earth. Now there would always be a piece of the Ainu’s spirit inhabiting Arda, no matter what happened to Melkor himself. It was a most valuable aid.  
  
Sauron felt the whispers now. Yes, something was out there, watching his every step, even as he sat by the river. But what? The wolf stood and shook itself. Without any more hesitation he turned and ran along the riverbank, following the river’s course upstream to Tol Sirion.  
  
________________________________________________________________  
  
The tower had collapsed. That was the first thing Sauron perceived about his old home of Tol-in-Gaurhoth. The limestone and rock that formed the tower had crumbled about a third of the way up, leaving the remaining two thirds of the tower scattered around its base in complete ruin. The rest of the buildings that had made the area a stronghold were abandoned but fully intact. Disuse has turned the whole island barren, but the fact that most of the buildings still stood gave the place an eerie feel, like one might expect an elf to come walking by on his way home any second. Yet, it was clear that none inhabited the island any more, no Elf, Man, or wolf.  
  
Sauron approached a piece of ruin that was definitely part of the dome that had once served as the crown upon the tower’s peak. He sniffed the stone searchingly. He had expected to smell marks of fire or blood, something to indicate an unknown battle had taken place here. Yet, he could smell only limestone and faintly, very faintly, the scent of wolves. He inhaled deeply without realizing, trying to smell as much of that beautiful and familiar scent as possible.  
  
His wolves. They were the true rulers of this island. When Sauron had conquered this stronghold, the tower had loomed menacingly above everything within view on all sides of the island and as far as any eye could see across the river. It had stood as a monument to the powers of Angband. Wolf packs roamed the forests on the opposite shores, always hungry, always looking for stray Elves or Men that had gone too far north or west out of Dimbar. How Sauron’s pride had surged at the sight of wolves prowling around the foot of the tower or sniffing the ground around the beaches on the island, keeping all out that would dare to venture by boat.  
  
It had been a worthy home. He had made sure of that. Prisons honeycombed the ground beneath the tower, stretching out for miles, promising torment and darkness to all who opposed Angband. The room at the top of the tower was Sauron’s own personal chamber. Something about inhabiting the highest point of a tall tower gave one clarity, he felt. In his room atop the tower he planned the most feasible battle strategies on record--that was where the plans for Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, had first been hatched. Now here that peak had fallen, no taller than Sauron’s own wolf form any longer.  
  
Cold rage flowed through him. Damn Melian and her spiteful daughter, damn Thingol the Thief Lord and all of Doriath, nay all the Firstborn themselves! All those who had stolen this stronghold from him only to leave it to centuries of abandonment.  
  
Sauron’s eyes turned from dull red in color into actual fire as his rage consumed him. With a cry, he felt his animal instincts bubble over with a need to destroy, but there were no smaller animals left here to pray upon. Forgetting for a moment his grief, Sauron dissolved his wolf form and reassumed his regular shape as the Lieutenant of Angband. In this form, his eyes remained as fire, living flame, each eye with a yellow center that expanded and contracted with a black cat-like pupil. His body was like that of an Eldar, though taller and more well-built. Sauron had assumed a muscled form when he was still the servant of Aulë; he needed strength above all else as a blacksmith. His bulk was countered by a thin frame, so that instead of being stocky he was lithe but heavily toned, shapely but rippling with strength. He wore his raven black hair closely cropped, shorn to his scalp on all sides, which was highly unusual by most standards. It was rare to find an Eldar with cropped hair and most Ainur followed suite with their physical forms, but Sauron was all about practicality. Long flowing hair offered no assistance in the forges or on the battlefield, in fact it was quite a hindrance to have hair falling in his eyes or whipping about ungoverned at the most inopportune moments. So he left it cropped, giving no heed to those that said he looked like a stable boy. With lightly tanned skin that always appeared to be covered in flecks of soot, Sauron gave an aura of worldly experience, much different than the other-worldliness of the Valar and most Maiar. He looked exactly like what he was: A being that had been born in the forges and who was equally as comfortable toiling away in the hottest and darkest places as he was wielding around a sword or a whip against any that dared to threaten him. It was his eyes of fire that gave him away as a Maia, blessed with the power of the Ainur.  
  
Such was the form that Sauron assumed. He wore his battle armor still from the fight, a black and spiked suit of metal that he had forged himself, with his most faithful sword still swinging from his hips. The helmet and gauntlets of his armor had been discarded and so he felt the island air against his skin. His voice had changed from a wolf-howl into the deep-throated yell of a man, but he stopped shouting once he felt a breeze from the south. A southern wind? Unheard of in Tol-in-Gaurhoth. That could only mean...  
  
 The Maia whipped around to confront the being he was now sure stood behind him. Instinctually he grabbed the hilt of his sword, though he left it sheathed. At first the only thing his eyes saw was ruined backdrop of Tol Sirion, but that southern wind still howled directly in his face. He smelled the wind, trying to inhale the scent of whatever was coming. Perhaps he could discern something...wait. His eyes expanded wildly, flame whipping about the sides of his face. He knew that scent.  
  
“Come out, thrall of Manwë!” He yelled directly into the gust as it continued. “I can sense thy form, still covered as it is with the blood of my master!”  
  
The wind picked up speed so much that Sauron had to shield his face with a hand, then suddenly gave way somehow to a physical body. When the person touched ground, the wind stopped blowing completely.  
  
Sauron regarded the creature. He recognized it. Intense hatred surged through him and his grip on his sword tightened.  
  
The creature before him was another Maia, using the earthly form of a man. This form was very well-built as well, indeed more so than Sauron. He was the mightiest of the Maiar and his strength showed, skin white and glowing, with hair the same pure whiteness of snow draped around his shoulders. He wore armor as well, but it was stained in places with blood. Sauron could easily pinpoint his master’s blood, a light spray against the Maia’s chest plate. The sight caused him so much anger and pain that he desired to transform his physical body into a creature of flame, a Balrog perhaps, that could burn the soul out of the man in front him, reduce him to ash with the force of his rage.  
  
But Sauron contained himself with a loud hiss. “Ëonwë...” he muttered between clenched teeth.  
  
Ëonwë sighed. “Yes, I am the servant of Manwë,” he replied, unbearably mercurial in the face of such hatred. “Hardly a thrall, though, as you well know.”  
  
“I see no difference,” Sauron answered. “Between thou and the lowliest of servants, ever at Manwë’s beck and call, only gracing Arda with thy presence when the Lord of Valinor deems it necessary to disfigure the body of a Vala much more beautiful and powerful than thee!” He wanted to go on about what blasphemy it was for a Maia to hew the body of a Vala, but really, in terms of blasphemy, he could not argue against Ëonwë.  
  
“Well, perhaps he was powerful. Once upon a time. But Morgoth Bauglir is no longer He who Arises in Might, as he was in ages past.” Ëonwë looked at their surroundings, taking in the ruins without any emotion showing on his face. “Tol Sirion, is this place called? Hmm...I had heard there was a tower here.”  
  
“Of course thou hast never seen Tol Sirion before, content as thou art to linger in Valinor like a fat pet to the likes of Manwë. Yes, there was once a tower in this place. Here it lies!” He pointed to the ruins around his feet. “Condemned to waste away after it was stolen from me by Melian’s daughter.”  
  
“Ah, yes,” a slight smirk played around Ëonwë’s lips. “I had heard of that as well.”  
  
“Tell me, are all the Firstborn so wasteful?” Sauron had weighed his chances in an outright fight against Ëonwë and deemed that they were probably slim. Ëonwë had strength that Sauron had not seen with his own eyes, but that he knew from tales was great. He could not fight against a pure wild card, it was poor strategy. So he had to play whatever game Ëonwë was playing. Right now that meant insults.  
  
“I would not know,” Ëonwë said in answer to Sauron’s question. “But I grieve not for the loss of your tower. Nor the loss of Angband, as it stands now in ruin.”  
  
Anger had given way to attentiveness as Sauron tried to figure out why Ëonwë so approached him now. “Yes, the history of Arda must bore thee, being as thou art filled with the graces of Valinor, living in a time that will outlast all time. What concern dost thou have for the likes of me, a creature bound to Arda’s fate?”  
  
Ëonwë sighed again. “You are right, I care not for Arda. But you...Sauron, is that how you call yourself now?”  
  
He paused, but Sauron said nothing.  
  
Ëonwë continued. “I know nothing of this Sauron the Abhorred, this Lieutenant of Angband, that has caused the likes of the Firstborn such distress over the past few centuries. But I do remember a time when you were called Mairon and you served Aulë justly, ever the craftsman that could create works hitherto unseen or unthought of by others. That is how I shall call you, Mairon the Blacksmith.”  
  
“Call me whatever you like,” Sauron replied. It had been a while since he had heard that name, but it did not inspire nostalgia coming from the lips of Ëonwë.  
  
For a moment, Ëonwë genuinely smiled. He perched his elbow on the hilt of his sword in a cocky gesture. “It is good to hear you say that,” he said. “We find ourselves at the dawn of a new age. There is no need to be so formal anymore. None of the Firstborn speak formally these days, that much I know. I would rather see you, Mairon, not stuck in the past, but moving forward with the changing times.”  
  
Sauron was uncertain of the full meaning behind his words. “New age?” he asked. “What new age do you speak of?”  
  
“I cannot say with certainty, but times are changing now that Bauglir has been deposed. Mandos has spoken of it, though it is still too early to give words to yet.”  
  
“Of what has Mandos spoken?” Sauron pressed.  
  
“That Beleriand, as it is called now, will change shape. The time of the Firstborn is over. It is now time for the Secondborn to lay claim where they will.” With an air of great importance, he continued. “I have been sent to help the Secondborn and to teach them. Ever has it been my purview to instruct where others are lacking and give guidance to those that have none. That, I believe, is why Manwë sent me to you.”  
  
At the last words of that statement, Ëonwë’s blue eyes flashed as he regarded Sauron. He was gauging what kind of reaction he would get by saying that. For his part, Sauron remained completely stoic, giving no reaction for Ëonwë to read. He needed to figure out the other Maia’s intentions before he decided on a path that could win him the upper hand in this.  
  
“So...” Ëonwë continued. “What I mean to say is this. Let me help you, Mairon. Join me in Valinor with the rest of the Vala and make use of yourself. With Bauglir gone and Thangorodrim destroyed, you can create a new persona for yourself. I have heard much about your skill as a shapeshifter, why not put it to good use now? Relinquish your form of fire and war, create now a fair visage upon which all in Valinor will come to love. I know you have that power, Mairon. I know you can inspire love instead of hate!”  
  
Ëonwë grew more and more excited, his previously unaffected air becoming suddenly animated. Sauron’s lack of reaction had surprised him and caused him to increase his fervor without really intending to, so keen was he that Sauron would yield to his way of thinking.  
  
As he talked, Sauron came to understand what Ëonwë’s intentions were. He truly felt that he could convert Sauron to the way of the light. He wanted him to renounce Melkor and become a servant to other Valar, the ones who had so destroyed his home. Ëonwë truly intended for Sauron to forget everything, even his own name, and return to being Mairon the Useful, or whatever the white-haired Maia had dubbed him.  
  
So little he understood of what Sauron was. The lieutenant could no sooner abandon all he had accomplished and fought for under Melkor’s rule than he could miraculously turn back the hands of time to the point of history when he had first laid eyes upon his Vala. Back then, when he first walked upon the surface of Arda and marveled at its splendor. When he gazed upon the splendid forests of Yavanna and then upon the mountains carved from rock and stone by his old master Aulë...and then suddenly he came upon a sight that had shaken his every belief up until that point. A mountain, formed by Aulë, that spit liquid fire from its depths. That strange, beautiful fire flowed down from the peak of the mountain to the base, engulfing everything in its path and causing the neighboring plants to combust. Sauron had fallen in love what that odd fire, what he learned was called ‘lava,’ from the second he saw it.  
  
When his fellow Maiar saw the lava, they gasped in fear and recoiled. Sauron was shocked. Did they not see the beauty that he saw? Was not this the creation of Aulë, their lord? But no. Something told him this was not Aulë’s doing. He had never seen that Vala create anything so strange and wondrous.  
  
That was when he heard the name. “Melkor has done this!” They gasped. “It was him! That troublesome Vala, ruining everything we have tried to create, just because it pleases him! Curse him...” They had gone on to disavow the name of Melkor, but Sauron had stopped listening.  
  
And so it was. Melkor. The creator of lava and of the amazing mountain, called a ‘volcano,’ that Sauron could hardly believe existed. Sauron wanted nothing other than to see more. More wondrous, unique manipulations of Arda that he had never imagined possible.  
  
It was then that Sauron harbored his first feelings of love for Melkor. Feelings that he did not acknowledge, of course, out of fear for what everyone else would say, Melkor being the most hated of the Valar. He dared not acknowledge his love aloud, not even give words to it in his mind, but it was there. From then and ever on.  
  
“So!”  
  
Ëonwë’s exclamation brought Sauron out of his reverie. “What say you, Mairon? Do you accept my offer of peace and teaching?” His lips bore a wide small, anticipating Sauron saying yes right away.  
  
Sauron blinked slowly and let his words form. “I say...” He swallowed the next word that would come out of his mouth. It would pain him, indeed, but he had suddenly figured out a way that he could gain the advantage.  
  
“I say...yes, of course.”  
  
Ëonwë’s face lit up with victory. He tossed his head back in a small act of triumph. “Well decided, Mairon! Come with me now, to the host of Valinor, where we will present you to Manwë.”  
  
“One second, Ëonwë,” Sauron said, taking a small step back as Ëonwë moved forward. “I have one condition.”  
  
A single white eyebrow lifted in response. “You are...hardly in the position to pose any demands, Blacksmith...” He paused. “But, I suppose...I can hear you out. What is it, then?”  
  
“I want to hold congress with Melkor, whom I know lies in your captivity. I want to speak with him or at least see him, so that I know what has become of him. It is something I desire because...well, since you have spoken with me, I long to put an end to the period of my life where I served him. Seeing him in chains will give me a kind of closure, if you will.”  
  
Now both of Ëonwë’s eyebrows were raised. “Most unusual request. I doubt that...it would be allowed for the two of you to hold congress, but Bauglir’s trial is impending. I suppose we could entreat Manwë to let you be present for the trial, though I assure you his fate has already been decided.”  
  
“And what fate his that?” Sauron felt the fire within him burn cold for a moment as he waited to hear the answer.  
  
“He is to be sent through the Door of Night into the Timeless Void, completely out of reach of the physical world. It is the only place the Valar deem appropriate for one so...troublesome as Morgoth Bauglir.”  
  
Sauron’s flame burned so low it almost went out. So that was it. They wanted to cast him out of the Walls of World, beyond the boundaries of both Aman and Arda where none could reach...such a bitter end for Melkor whose whole purpose thrived on contact with the physicality of Arda. In uttering that sentence, Ëonwë had caused Sauron more sadness than he had known in his entire existence up until that point.  
  
How could he hope to reunite with Melkor from beyond the Door of Night? None ever passed between the realms, least of all a Maia.  
  
But then...Sauron’s flame suddenly reignited. The Door of Night was still a door, of course. That meant there was some contact between beings going in and out, parlay perhaps. A parlay...that was something he could work with. He knew not anything about the process, nor how the Valar protected such a door, but it was the most promising thing he had heard yet.  
  
This was the plan, then. First, the trial. Then he would see what needed to be done.  
  
“You spoke of entreating Manwë, did you not?” Sauron said, after missing a beat.  
  
“Yes, that is what we must do to...comply with your request,” Ëonwë responded.  
  
“Well then. Let us go.” Sauron took the form of a wolf and charged forward, bidding Ëonwë to follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sauron, wait, you don't know the way to Aman! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked the second chapter. Loved writing the dialogue. Drop me a review if you want!


	3. Past and Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron enters the realm of Valinor and encounters things that he did not expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter doesn't drag on too much. I wanted to build up the characters a little more before I go on with the story. Hope you like!

Chapter Three - Past and Future  
  
Sauron ran as fast as his wolf body would allow. The only thought in his mind was speed. Soon Ëonwë followed behind him, riding a gust of wind.  
  
“I believe it would be faster,” Ëonwë began, suddenly right beside him and about to overtake him, “if you would let me bear you, certainly much faster than that animal form you have decided to take.”  
  
For a few seconds Sauron gave only his heavy panting as a response. He thought about his dignity, riding on the back of Manwë’s servant, straight into Valinor for all to see. But it was true that he had no idea what direction would take him to Aman. In terms of speed, Ëonwë did speak the truth...  
  
The black wolf tossed its head, then suddenly leapt in the air. Before landing, the wolf transformed into a crow and flew towards Ëonwë’s gust. As a crow, Sauron could use the wind surrounding Ëonwë to propel him. Being an animal, though, meant that he could not speak with his guide, so he let his form speak for itself.  
  
Sauron looked down at the world of Beleriand below them. These peaks and ravines were familiar tokens of a landscape that had long been his domain. In his heart, he despaired at the idea of leaving, especially to go into the treacherous territory of the Valar. Yet, part of what he had to do appealed to the Maia’s heartfelt sense of order in the way of things. Following his master to the unknown and back was just another duty that he must perform as Lieutenant of Angband. Perhaps it would be the most important task yet, he realized. With Angband in ruins, he would do it as the most faithful servant of Melkor. A small part of him hoped Melkor would be able to recognize him for his loyalty...but he had learned not to hope for recognition. He did what he did out of personal pride, and, of course, an unfaltering dedication. That was all. He did not take anymore time to reflect on his actions.  
  
Letting out a bone chilling caw, Sauron fixed his gaze forward, ignoring what lay below. He felt Ëonwë come up beneath him, pushing him higher and higher until he found himself passing through the clouds. This disoriented him a little; the clouds had always remained rightly above him. Sauron never desired or dared to fly so high. Those spaces were most definitely Valar territory.  
  
The higher they went, the more difficult it became to breathe. Eventually Sauron let his small crow form simply float on top of Ëonwë’s gust, which remained strong no matter the height. He lost track of time and direction, focusing entirely on staying aloft. A burning hatred flared within him at the thought that Ëonwë was taking this disorienting route on purpose. Truly this was the most difficult way to get to Valinor....  
  
Without warning, Sauron found himself blinded by light. It was so bright and so...well, holy, that he had to shut his eyes against it. Even with eyes closed, an image of the Silmarils burned in his mind. Their light was the only thing that could match such brightness, and it was a sight he could never forget, having stared at them for centuries on Melkor’s crown.  
  
As they neared the light, the dark Maia lost all sense of location and found himself struggling with all his might to keep his form. He felt his physical body screaming, perhaps literally, telling him to disembody and flee to somewhere dark where he could be safe. He refused this basic survival instinct, though he felt pieces of his spirit flying out of the crow’s body and extending far behind him.  
  
“I must...endure...” How long would this light continue? Why were they not through yet? Such torture, it felt like the light was literally burning the darkness out of him, a darkness he had accumulated for so many centuries. “I must...I can...not...abandon him...”  
  
Suddenly Sauron felt earth beneath his body. He felt two legs and two arms laying on soft grass. Apparently he had lost his crow form and reverted into his most human body, what he always used as a default. Slowly, the Maia opened his eyes. Nothing met his gaze but cool daylight, a pink sunrise shining in the distance. He looked down at himself and saw smoke rising off his flesh.  
  
Sauron shook his head to clear his mind. Apparently they had passed into Valinor.  
  
A groan threatened to escape him. Valinor. At last. That passage had hardly been easy, and that was just the beginning. His throat burned as if he had been screaming for hours. He swallowed hard against the pain.  
  
Ëonwë landed gracefully beside him, infuriatingly unaffected. He walked forward and stared at the sunrise.  
  
“That path is the quickest way into Valinor. Few know of it.” He looked down at Sauron’s smoldering form. “I doubt you will use it again,” he said, chuckling. “That light was certainly a trial of Varda. I felt her presence right before we passed through the entrance. Maybe it burned some sense into you...”  
  
Ëonwë took a few steps toward the burned Maia and extended his hand, offering to help him stand. With his face in the grass, Sauron snorted. He would rather be reduced to a pile of ash than accept Ëonwë’s hand.  
  
Planting both palms on the ground, Sauron lifted himself up and stood on shaky legs. This form was strong, he had designed it that way. It would hold. Ëonwë dropped his hand and looked again towards the sunrise, refusing to admit to being affected by the sight of the powerful Maia struggling to his feet. For the love of Varda, his skin was still smoking. How did Mairon withstand such pain, and moreover, why did he choose such a painful existence?  
  
Unaware of Ëonwë’s thoughts, Sauron took a moment to look at their surroundings. They seemed to be in the shadow of Taniquetil, Manwë’s and Varda’s mountain dwelling. He could see the mountain’s peak towards the west, as far west as he could perceive. In the east, he saw green pastures stretch far until they passed into the ocean. Beyond that, he saw nothing but ocean, reaching as far east as the sunrise itself. This was certainly Aman.  
  
He had expected more clouds. And beaches. What of the lapping shores of the Grey Havens those elves spoke so much about? Sauron supposed they were passed that. This was the Blessed Realm, where the Valar themselves resided. He knew not if any of the Eldar were allowed passage here.  
  
Indeed, Sauron had hardly expected to ever find himself here. He knew little about Aman as a realm. Instead, Sauron remembered the days of Almaren, that beautiful isle in the middle of a lake. It had been the Valar’s first home, and the last in which he spent his days in their service. This place was nothing like Almaren. Everything shone with an unearthly glow, like the Valar needed reminding of their holy splendor wherever they could. Was this a way to keep the Eldar in line, forever revering their light because they simply could not escape it? That was a good strategy, Sauron admitted, if that was the case. Perhaps a similar thing could be done for the orcs in Angband, or wherever his future realm lay...  
  
“This is the first time that sunrise has ever been red,” Ëonwë explained. “It means that many Vanyar have been slain in combat. Arien weeps with us. Such a waste of blood...”  
  
Yes, indeed a shame, thought Sauron. Yet none would weep for the losses of Angband. He did not ask for such pointless pity. Grief he would bear alone, in secret, hoping that none could perceive his true purpose for coming to Valinor.  
  
Ëonwë gestured at their surroundings. “These are Yavanna’s pastures. She tends them, keeping all her blossoms in a state of summer fullness. You...should remain here for a time, Mairon.”  
  
His head snapped in Ëonwë’s direction, eyes burning. Was this treachery? Did they mean to entrap him in the vines of a tree or some such thing?  
  
“I only mean that I should go to see Manwë alone. Varda has let you pass into this realm but attending a trial in the Ring of Doom...that is a different matter.”  
  
“So I should bide my time, then?” Sauron’s eyes were burning, they bore into Ëonwë. “While you entreat his holiness?”  
  
Ëonwë shrugged, but looked down again. “You could always spend your time reflecting. The pastures of Yavanna hold many things you might find relevant to your history. Remnants of the past, perhaps.”  
  
Sauron looked away from him. He hardly had a choice whatever Ëonwë would decide. In fact he rather preferred not to stand before Manwë and Varda face to face... That did not mean he needed to walk among the flowers like some wood elf of Lothlorien.  
  
“Whatever you wish, Ëonwë,” Sauron replied. His voice was more of a croak than the sultry hiss he had intended. Still, he would tell the Maia what he wanted to hear.  
  
Ëonwë beamed at his compliance. “Excellent. There is only...one more matter, then. The matter of your...form.” His blue eyes searched Sauron’s body up and down. “That...roughened skin, and of course your eyes...your hair also. What is the nature of that appearance, Mairon? Do you wish to present like one of the Secondborn’s young horse-tenders?”  
  
Even though the fire within him burned hot at Ëonwë’s insults, Sauron merely rolled his neck, purposefully flexing the muscles there for Ëonwë to see. He turned away from his annoying companion and started to take off the armor that had been with him since the war began. Sauron knew little of Valinor, but he did know that it was a place of peace where none liked to speak of violence. He would certainly stand out if we wore this armor all over Valinor, practically calling all who looked to see the fallen Lieutenant of Angband come to grovel at the feet of Manwë. No, better not to draw any attention.  
  
Underneath his armor, Sauron wore only garments of black cloth, sleeveless under-armor that clung to his shape and long black trousers. He hated being so exposed. Not even within the walls of Angband would be walk around like this. With anger, he cast down his suit of mail. When it came time to drop his sword, he merely stared at Ëonwë deeply.  
  
“No need for that here, I will take it,” Ëonwë replied.  
  
Sauron approached him and held out his hand, still holding the sword tightly. When Ëonwë reached for it, Sauron lowered his voice into a harsh spellbinding gravel, which would have certainly summoned shadows about them had they been in Arda. “Do not lose this,” he said. “I will get this back.”  
  
Ëonwë’s hair rustled slightly at Sauron’s spell, but that was all. He merely smiled at the Maia’s sincerity. “I understand, of course. Do not worry about your sword.” He reached out and took it without any more conversation.  
  
Sauron turned away. He was without sword and armor now, in Valinor of all places. Maybe this was not such a grand idea after all. He had failed to consider all the variables...  
  
And yet there was no turning back. He had to see this through to the end.  
  
With a sigh, Sauron closed his eyes. He transformed them from living fire into regular human eyes that shone dull red in color. His black nails sharpened into near claws retracted to look more plain. As for his skin and shape, those he kept. He wanted Melkor to be able to recognize him if they were to meet again here.  
  
“Good enough, Ëonwë?” he asked. “Hardly a ‘fair form,’ but it should please your masters to see me stripped of armor and all manner of weapons.”  
  
Ëonwë nodded after a time. “I suppose. Yes, good enough Mairon. Now, if you will, I must leave you and go speak with my lord and lady. Remain here, as we discussed.” He summoned some wind around him.  
  
As he ascended skyward, Ëonwë looked down on him and said again, “Try to search your soul, Mairon. Walk in the pastures and remember all that is green and beautiful in the world. I will come for you in due time. Farewell!”  
  
Then the white-haired Maia was gone.  
  
Suddenly alone, Sauron turned to face the south. The only things in that direction were fields, fields and some random patches of forest here and there. He guessed these were Yavanna’s pastures that he heard so much about. Well, if he was biding his time, he might as well see what they held for him.  
  
After running a hand across his scalp, Sauron cooled the fire within him that burned impatiently (a skill his master had never quite learned). Letting his hand fall to his side, the dark Maia started walking south.  
  
___________________________________________________________________  
  
The pastures and forests were simply unnatural. All the plants and flowers sparkled with some kind of permanent dew, a dew that burned Sauron’s finger when he touched a drop of it. The animals frolicked and seemed not to notice his presence. He saw only deer, rabbits, and tree-dwelling creatures, certainly nothing that liked to inhabit the darker parts of the forest. But he understood why there were no such dark creatures. All those belonged to Melkor.  
  
Even the landscape of the pastures drew his attention. The entirety of the ground was completely flat and green, no sudden outcroppings, no dry patches of earth where grass refused to grow. The whole of it was easy to navigate and completely fertile. Sauron supposed that this also was due to the fact that Melkor held no sway over these lands. If the Valar had had their way, this was how all forests in Arda would look. Completely fruitful, utterly boring. Sauron walked among them unaffected.  
  
Needless to say, he could not read the earth the way he could in Beleriand. He heard no whispers, no shadows calling to him out of reach. However, every now and then he caught a glimpse of something golden shining out of the corner of his eye. Whenever he turned to look, it was gone. What signal was this he wondered. Who was calling to him or giving information about him?  
  
Sauron shook his head and continued walking. Whatever it was, he could just ignore it. He kept walking until he came to a small mound planted in the earth. This was the only outcropping in the ground for miles and miles. What made this small patch of earth so special? He stared at it deeply. Gradually, he saw the green earth radiate with a golden light from within.  
  
Curiosity overtook him. Sauron kneeled on one leg and leaned over the mound. He sniffed but smelled nothing out of the ordinary, just the hazy scent of fresh grass. Against his better judgement, he reached out and touched the top of the mound with his hand.  
  
Warmth flowed through him. He blinked his eyes once against the feeling slowly overtaking him. When he opened his eyes, Sauron found himself suddenly in Utumno, the first great fortress ever held by Melkor--long destroyed now. He blinked again but the image remained.  
  
This hardly made any sense...he looked around. He had the view of Utumno from a high place, as if he had taken the form of a flying creature and was spying on the scene below him. He could see clearly all the creatures inhabiting the old fortress and saw now that he was in Melkor’s throne room. It was a place Melkor hardly frequented when he was lord there, preferring instead to disembody and roam about Beleriand, wreaking havoc wherever he could.  
  
Looking closely, Sauron could see Melkor sitting on his throne now. Before him kneeled a figure with short-cropped black hair...not surprisingly Sauron recognized the figure as himself. From his vantage point high above, the Maia smiled. He knew what scene was playing out below him. It was a fond memory of his actually. Himself, as a young and reckless Maia, offering his servitude to Melkor.  
  
The vantage point shifted slightly and Sauron saw the figures as if he were standing right beside them. He saw himself, kneeling with his head down, two orcs on either side of him pointing swords at his shoulders. He remembered how he felt. Nervous, of course, but proud also...so proud to be finally doing what his heart desired for so long.  
  
‘We found this one, my lord,’ one of the orcs said to Melkor. ‘He was wandering the gates and asking for treaty with thee. Killed four of the orcs that tried to attack him on the spot. We had no choice but to bring him here...I think he’s dangerous my lord, one of them...the Valar...’ The orc’s hand shook slightly as he spoke.  
  
Melkor sat in his throne, the perfect picture of regality, arms crossed at his chest and legs crossed one on top of the other. Molten magma hung around his body in a constant state of motion, flowing from his scalp as hair. His eyes froze everything they touched upon. They were cold blue in color, like living ice. His skin was pale as ever. Even though his limbs were folded, Sauron could spot his long hands and fingers: The right was irradiated by flame that floated menacingly about his palm and the left bore ice around each fingertip that threatened to spread with a single touch. Truly, Melkor was a god of fire and ice, as the legends said.  
  
‘That is no Vala, you fool,’ he said to the orc. ‘That is a lowly Maia, a mere servant. One of Aulë’s I believe.’  
  
Suddenly Melkor's voice darkened. ‘You!’ he said to Sauron. ‘Tell me what business is it that brings you to Utumno. And lift up your head so I can look at you.’    
  
Slowly, young Sauron lifted his head. Boldly, he brought his gaze up to meet Melkor’s, even though he suspected eye contact with the dark Vala was forbidden.  
  
Melkor held his gaze without saying anything, though he was visibly surprised. The Vala raised an eyebrow in response to Sauron’s eyes of flame.  
  
‘Definitely one of Aulë’s,’ he said finally, resting back against his throne. ‘You’re a blacksmith, are you not?’  
  
‘I am a blacksmith, Lord Melkor,’ Sauron replied. ‘Though I am no longer in Aulë’s service.’  
  
‘No? Left his company, have you? I understand. I rather hate the look of those creatures he created, those _dwarves_ I think he calls them.’ Melkor grimaced at the thought of them. ‘What’s the point in defying Eru to make creatures so worthless, creatures that desire only to mine? What does Aulë hope to find in the deep places of the earth? Mere trinkets, it seems. Golden rocks that shine annoyingly in a certain light. And then to go crawling back to Eru after the deed is done! Tell me, what is the point of all that?’  
  
Sauron kneeled in silence as Melkor ranted. He was waiting for the right time to give entreaty.  
  
The god before him grasped the arms of his throne with each hand, gripping them with force. ‘So! Say it! Why have you come to me, the mightiest of the Valar, after you’ve lost your obedience?’ He smirked, showing some teeth. ‘I think I know why...’ he said.  
  
‘I have come to offer my service as a Maia,’ Sauron said in a loud voice. ‘I can offer thee my skill as both a smithy and as a creature of order. My name Mairon means cunning and I can assure thee that my mind works only to conceive the best results out of any situation. It is how I was made, since the Music. I will give to thee all that I can accomplish and all that I am, to do with as thou wilt.’  
  
Melkor stared at him for a moment. Then he burst out laughing, a loud boisterous laugh. ‘Perfect! You offer me your service in Aulë’s wake. But, really, Mairon, was it? Tell me why it is you have come to offer yourself like this, groveling at the feet of the most untrustworthy of the Valar, as everyone seems to call me.’  
  
‘I see a need, Lord, and I desire to fill it.’  
  
From his vantage point on the sidelines, Sauron watched himself give the little half-truth as an answer. He remembered thinking that he should not tell the real reason, not yet. This moment in Utumno had been too early. He wanted to wait until his truth could be revealed in full.  
  
‘Need?’ Melkor spat out. ‘What need could I possibly have for a traitorous blacksmith?’  
  
Without any hesitation, young Sauron reached out and grabbed the armor of the orc that had spoken. With one hand, he ripped it off the orc’s body and crushed it in his palm, crumpling the metal beyond repair. The orc squealed in fear and dropped his sword.  
  
‘I see that the armor of these creatures is weak, Lord. Pitifully weak, in fact,’ he said. He tossed the remnants of the orc’s chest plate on the ground. ‘It seems thou does have need of a proper blacksmith.’  
  
Melkor looked agitated. ‘That tells me nothing! You could be a spy of the Valar, sent to uncover all my secrets and reveal everything to their hateful, prying eyes!’  
  
Sauron grabbed the sword the orc had dropped. He stabbed the orc through the neck and pulled the blade out quickly, killing him in one shot. The orc’s body fell to the ground.  
  
‘I am no servant of theirs, Lord.’ That much was clear. The Valar and their lot would never kill in cold blood like that just to prove a point.  
  
Suddenly calm, Melkor showed no sign of reacting to Sauron’s display. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘So is that really it, then? You have abandoned Aulë and all the other Valar in their light just so you can make for me better armor?’  
  
Sauron let the sword in his hand fall. ‘Not just better armor, Lord. I can help thee in thy struggle for dominance. If dominion over Arda is what thou desirest, then thou wilt need to prepare for battle. Thou wilt have need of a captain, one who can lead the Lord’s forces to victory on the battlefield and behind the scenes. I can do that for thee.’  
  
‘Captain, ha! How presumptuous!’ Melkor smiled darkly. ‘Though perhaps lieutenant...’  
  
The Vala stood abruptly. ‘But you’re getting ahead of yourself. First I’ll have a proper look at you.’ He sauntered down from his throne and stood directly in front of the young Maia.  
  
Sauron did not drop his gaze, even in such close proximity. Melkor was boring into him with his cold, brutal eyes. It felt as if the Vala was staring into his mind, searching for all the secrets there. He felt shadows build around the two of them as Melkor’s essence reached outward to envelop him. He let the shadows climb his body without showing any reaction.  
  
Then Melkor trailed an ice finger down Sauron’s face. The Maia shuddered involuntarily, coldness spreading through him from that one point of contact. He had not expected to be touched. He kept his gaze firm though, the fire in his eyes growing large as he reacted.  
  
Melkor smiled as he watched. He ran a fingertip across Sauron’s chin and said, ‘Yes. I think you have made a wise choice, blacksmith.’  
  
Then the Vala was gone, walking away from him at a rapid pace. Sauron stared after him momentarily frozen in his spot. He felt bereft at the loss of contact, but warmer, and he was not sure how to proceed.  
  
‘Come on then!’ Melkor called, now in the next room. ‘I will show you all my creatures of chaos. Truly they are the best creations in all of Arda, certainly better than anything you have ever seen. Follow me.’  
  
‘Yes, my lord,’ Sauron replied, body finally responding. He followed after his new master.  
  
On the sidelines, Sauron waited for his vantage point to shift again so he could follow the two figures. He wanted to see what came next, though memory told him this was where Melkor showed him young Draugluin, still an infant wolf, and many other creatures that were yet to be born.  
  
Instead of that scene, however, Sauron heard a loud voice ringing in his head saying, “Did you like that one?”  
  
He blinked against the sound. Opening his eyes, he found himself back in Valinor, in the pastures surrounded by green. He was still kneeling on the ground in front of the mound. The reality of his situation crashed around his thoughts and the joy he felt at seeing Melkor again at his prime faded.  
  
Before him stood a figure dressed in a green dress. Sauron stared up at the figure and gathered information on who it could be. A woman, certainly, with very dark skin and hazel eyes. She had a rather slender figure. Her face, neck, and limbs were long. In fact he guessed that she was even taller than he was when standing. Sauron knew the face and features.  
  
So he had come upon Yavanna.  
  
Sauron struggled to his feet, the last vestiges of the memory fading. He was right, Yavanna was taller than him. He looked up at her in all her beauty. Her dark chestnut skin shone in the light. She wore her black, unruly hair in countless tight, thin braids that fell around her shoulders and back. Atop her head was a golden crown made from autumn leaves that had been strung together with flowers.  
  
“So, did you like that one, Sauron?” she asked, a smile playing at her lips. Her teeth were blindingly white. She held a basket of weeds at her hips.  
  
Sauron passed a hand over his face. “What spell was that, Yavanna?” he asked, assuming the vision to have been part of her power.  
  
Yavanna sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. Who remembers? The point is it got you.” She smiled fully. Sauron remembered her reputation for being somewhat capricious, like many of the Valar.  
  
She used her free hand to toss back some of the braids on her shoulder and closed her eyes. Then she held a graceful hand over the mound. With a full smile, she absorbed the golden light into herself.  
  
As the Vala opened her eyes, she regarded Sauron. “Looks like you got a glimpse into the past. Careful there,” she said. “Sometimes memories tell us what we need to hear, but sometimes it’s just what we want to see that comes to mind. Nothing useful.” She kneeled down, showing her back to Sauron, and started pulling up weeds from the grass.  
  
“But why am I giving you advice, Sauron?” she continued working as she spoke. “Yes that’s right, I’m still calling you Sauron. The Abhorred. Because that’s what you are. Maybe you fooled Ëonwë and you might even fool the others, but not me. Don’t forget it was me that Morgoth wronged the most when he destroyed my lovely, defenseless trees all those years ago.” She paused and stared up at him. “You remember, right? The trees? Morgoth threw a spear into them and cast the world into chaos.”  
  
“I do remember,” Sauron replied, having no idea what Yavanna intended by telling him all this. He felt suddenly foolish in her presence. That angered him.  
  
“But you weren’t even there!” She tossed the rest of the weeds into her basket and stood up to her full height. Towering over him, her long face was fairly menacing. “You didn’t even see it happen!”  
  
Again Yavanna sighed. “I guess you cannot truly understand my pain. You and your master have no care for trees or growing things. You only care about dominance and fire...and...well, what is it you care about anyway?” She placed a hand on her hip.  
  
Despite himself, Sauron reflected on this. His values? Obvious to himself. But his belief in the order of things had been shaken since Melkor’s defeat, that much was true. Maybe chaos truly was the only answer...  
  
“Stop thinking dark thoughts!” Yavanna startled him. “I will have none of that nonsense here. Remember this, Sauron,” She moved away from him and tilted her head back. “I can see you. I know what you are. I don’t believe you’ve changed even for a second. You are rooted in evil. That much is clear to me. And your roots go too deep for any to pull you up.”  
  
She let her words sink in. Sauron was starting to feel disoriented. There was too much going on for him to really absorb what she was saying and what that meant for his eventual plan. He felt confused for the first time in centuries.  
  
Yavanna reached into her basket. “Here. I’ll give you this. It looks like you need some reminders of the past to help you move forward. Not that I care if you do or you don’t, I just think it’s fair if we give you the option to move on while you’re here. That’s what Manwë wants anyway. Don’t expect much from me, though. This is the last advice I’m giving you.”  
  
The graceful Vala pulled out a handful of dirt and tossed it at Sauron’s face. He caught the dirt in both hands. Suddenly it started glowing gold in his palm.  
  
“If you think of a memory while you’re holding that, you’ll be able to see it like a vision as you just experienced. Make sure you think of the right memories, Sauron.” Without another word, she turned away and stormed off.  
  
Sauron stared at Yavanna’s figure as she disappeared into the pastures. He supposed that he could respect her the most out of any of the Valar he had met so far. She, at least, did not put on airs. She spoke plainly and was accomplished as a Vala.  
  
He looked down at Yavanna’s gift. The golden glow waxed and waned in a strange rhythm. He held the ball of earth close to his chest. He desired much to keep this and use it, but he did not see what could be learned from the past. Sauron only wanted to horde his memories of time spent with his master and see them displayed vividly before him. It was a rare treasure.  
  
He sat on the grass, holding the earth in his hands. The only thing he could do was wait to be summoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it makes sense to me that Yavanna would be the one who hates Sauron and Melkor the most. She seemed really pissed off in the book after he destroys the trees (and that's pretty understandable). And I just love the idea of her as a Nubian goddess :). 
> 
> Hope to see you all in the next chapter!


	4. On Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron must follow through with his plan, but that means facing some powerful figures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write, but I loved doing it. There's a lot about the internal workings of Sauron here as he faces some obstacles, which I hope you find as interesting as I do. 
> 
> Trigger Warning: Some dubcon touching.

Chapter Four: On Trial

It was difficult to tell the passage of time in Valinor. Day passed into night as the moon rose, but the night felt unbearably short compared to that of Beleriand. Yet though the night was short, stars shone brightly to display the work of Varda to all who gazed upward. 

Sauron sat alone in the pastures watching the sky change indolently. He lacked any desire to explore his surroundings, that had been done to the sufficient extreme he felt. Instead the Maia contemplated his situation with a surprising amount of indifference. It was as though he had managed to separate his mind from his burning emotions at last, letting the grief and despair of bitter defeat wash over him and give way to numbness. The apathy was useful. It helped him to think.

Thoughts of the future tossed around Sauron’s mind. Soon Melkor’s trial would start and just as quickly (perhaps) his master would be sentenced to solitude in the outer voids. He wondered at the true nature of these voids. What was their purpose? Sauron had only heard of them, never seen them for himself, so their entire nature was a mystery. Yet, Sauron could imagine the voids well enough. Quiet, subsuming nothingness that would outlast all other realms of Arda. Solitary confinement, enough to drive anyone insane.

Perhaps Melkor in his pervasive insanity would find peace there.

Sauron smirked at the thought. He knew such a thing was could never happen. Peace for Melkor was simply impossible. The Vala held more desire and wrath in him than all of Arda and then some, enough to outlast even the voids themselves if it came to that. That knowledge gave Sauron some measure of comfort. Melkor would never yield and so neither would he.

Laying to rest the idea that his master would ever be broken, Sauron began to think about himself and his role in all of it. First of all, how should he behave in front of Manwë and the rest of the Valar? The idea of passing into the Ring of Doom made him anxious. Few Maiar had ever been there, even fewer willingly, and Sauron counted himself among the unluckiest that it was his lot to enter that place of judgement. Would it be cold, or perhaps it would be bright? Would they gaze upon him with fury and contempt or utter indifference? Which was more threatening? 

No. He would not let himself consider all the useless details. The Valar would treat him however they saw fit and that was impossible to predict beforehand. He would play the part of the contrite fallen lieutenant, passing himself for a misguided servant if any asked. That angle was sure to strike a few chords with at least a couple of the Valar, most likely Manwë himself and perhaps Oromë. Those two saw valor in loyalty and might forgive foul deeds if they believed the deeds to be done because of errant leadership and not for personal gain.

Of course, Sauron in his heart could not care the smallest bit if the Valar offered him forgiveness for his evil ways of many years. He did not regret anything that he had done in Melkor’s service. It was true that he did not always like the things he was asked to do, but he had completed everything with the knowledge that unlikeable duties came with great power. And indeed his power had been great. All creatures in Angband deferred to him. Sauron had given orders (some without his lord’s awareness) that superseded all others. He had gone where many would not throughout Beleriand, spreading shadows and fear of darkness wherever he desired. That freedom and that power pleased him greatly and he would never renounce the satisfaction. He was proud of what he had accomplished.

However, it was still true that he needed to pass as likable to the Valar to keep his head on his shoulders. That meant putting on a show of contrition. Perhaps he would take a fair form after all. Something like the Noldor, maybe, to give the gods the pleasure of seeing one of the rebellious and unbendable Noldor submit. 

Yes. Sauron felt content with this idea. It was better to act as they wanted him to act than to hold onto a form that was of too little use in this place. Rising to his feet, Sauron realized he was still holding Yavanna’s gift. He picked up a rock from around the pasture and whispered some words against its surface. Once he had bent the stone to his will, he fashioned a pouch out of the rock that would hold the ball of earth. The pouch fit against his body with some alterations. It would work. 

Then the shape-shifting Maia let himself assume the body of a Noldorin elf. He chose a nameless figure that looked slightly like Fëanor but more closely like Finrod whom Sauron knew well from having kept him prisoner at Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Long, blackish brown hair with a lean build and misty grey eyes. He had no mirror to admire himself, but he knew the transformation was a success. Not even Melkor would be able to recognize him now, which he reflected upon sadly. In this form he could not give his lord the comfort of a familiar sight when the fallen Vala faced his brethren alone. But Sauron told himself that his master would not be alone, not truly, even if he was not aware of the fact. That would have to be enough. 

Sauron began walking north, away from the pastures. He had waited a long enough time now. If he was to meet Manwë and Varda and the rest, then he would prefer to get the process over with as soon as possible. He felt a little insulted that they had made him wait this long anyway. Armed with a new form, Sauron was ready to walk straight into Taniquetil on his own. 

He had walked ahead some ways, pastures giving way to clearings with a plain view of the mountain, when suddenly the wind began to pick up. Strong gusts rustled the grass around him and caused his long hair to go wild. Sauron angrily pushed hair out of eyes; he felt practically blindfolded. 

When the gusts suddenly stopped and Sauron sensed a presence behind him, he knew obviously who it was. Straightening up, he turned around saying, “Good of you to come again, Ëonwë.” 

Sure enough, there stood the white-haired Maia in full regalia. Instead of armor, he wore a long, blue silk robe. Some silver threads stitched into the fabric caught the moonlight in such a way to make Ëonwë appear to be glowing. 

“Mairon,” he began. “I am surprised to see the form you have taken. For a moment I thought indeed one of the Noldor had returned.” 

Sauron spread his arms and swiveled his body back and forth a little, showing off the figure he had constructed. “That was the intention. Will this form please your masters enough to grant me access to their trial?”

Ëonwë ran his eyes up and down Sauron’s form. “It is a pleasing form, to be sure, Mairon. I do not know how the Valar will perceive your intentions, though. The Noldor are their least preferred of the Eldar.” He took a few steps closer to Sauron and continued. “Now, let me tell you what has happened. I have spoken with Manwë privately and he has agreed to let you attend the trial of Morgoth Bauglir. It was a simple enough conversation, but I had to assure him of your absolute contrition. Do you understand? Do not make me regret my words when you meet him.” 

He gave Sauron a meaningful look. For his part, Sauron fought the urge to laugh out loud at Ëonwë’s faith in him. But instead, he bowed slightly in a gesture of gratitude and acquiescence. 

Ëonwë smiled slightly in a way that was common for him. “Good. Now I must tell you what you are to do.” Again he stepped closer to Sauron so that now they were face to face. “When the Valar heard of Manwë’s agreement, they desired to hold a kind of trial for you as well. Nothing as serious as Bauglir’s, you understand, but they want to speak with you and test your will. They want to know why you had chosen to follow Bauglir from the beginning and then they want to see if you regret your choice.” 

Sauron felt his spirit murmur with anxiety in his chest. A test? How could he pass a test by lying fully to the Valar? In their wisdom, they would surely be able to see through such deceit. He said nothing while he thought, but Ëonwë continued.

“You know what you must do, then, correct?” Ëonwë asked. 

Truthfully, Sauron did not. He made eye contact with the Maia in front of him and tried to read his thoughts. Nothing worked.

Ëonwë smiled, seeing the blank expression on his companion’s face. “No? Then I will tell you. It should be obvious to one such as you.” He moved even closer to Sauron. Now they were nearly touching. In a loud voice (too loud for such close proximity), he said, “Bow to them. Get on your knees and beg them for forgiveness. They will not believe anything you say until they see how you have fallen so low. Your humility will save you, Mairon.”

Humility? Sauron fought the urge to growl. He had lost most of his humility in the days since he had assumed command. It would burn him, absolutely burn him, to get on his hands and knees in front of the Valar. His most hated foes, the ones who treated his master in such an unspeakable way. Sauron bit his tongue against the idea of begging them for anything, especially forgiveness. 

And yet...he thought about what they would make Melkor do when they saw him. He knew in his soul that his lord was about to be humiliated. If such a fate was to befall his lord, then Sauron knew he was fated to experience the same. It was just hard to accept...

Sauron lowered his head as he considered what he must do. A wise captain knew when he must cast aside all pride and do what would keep him alive to fight another day. Certainly he could not fight this day. He would have to do what Ëonwë said. 

Suddenly he felt hands on his face. Sauron startled at the contact. Ëonwë had place both of his hands on either side of Sauron’s face and was gently lifting his head so that he could look at him. Sauron wanted to fight against such unwanted contact, but he knew that this was just the beginning of his humiliation. Disgusted, he let Ëonwë continue.  

“Fear not,” Ëonwë said in a soft voice. “I know you can do this, my friend. You will show them how you have changed and how you have been burned by the light. Once they see how your soul has fought to enter here and how you have been cleansed of the darkness, they will understand. I know the Valar to be reasonable with such things.”

Ëonwë was looking at his companion with an expression of almost pure bliss. It made Sauron’s skin crawl to behold. Then Ëonwë lightly touched his brow to tuck a stray brown hair behind his ear. Sauron could not hold back a shiver, both of disgust and surprise at the sudden intimacy. Ëonwë smiled when he saw him react. 

“I will make sure no harm comes to you, friend,” the white-haired Maia said. He let his hand slide from Sauron’s face to his shoulder. Giving that shoulder a hard squeeze, he said, “We are like brothers now. United in purpose.” 

Sauron narrowed his eyes. He was beginning to have a sense of what Ëonwë desired from him and he knew he must tread carefully. He needed Ëonwë on his side until the trial, then he could throw so much scorn at him the wind spirit would have no choice but to sputter and die. 

“Do you not agree?” Ëonwë asked, seeing Sauron’s guarded response. He removed all hands from the other Maia’s body and his blissful smile faded completely.

Straightening up, Sauron asked, “Shall we go, then?” purposefully ignoring what had been asked of him. He would feign ignorance for all Ëonwë desired until he no longer could. “I am eager to face the Valar and have my truth be known,” he explained.

Ëonwë’s smile returned. “I understand that. Yes, let us go.” He summoned some wind around them. This time without asking for permission, the wind enveloped Sauron and he found himself lifted into the air surrounded by pressure on all sides. 

“I will bear you, Mairon,” Ëonwë called to him as they began soaring to the west. “So we will have no more delay.” 

In his Noldorin form, Sauron simply let himself be carried towards whatever fate lay ahead.

____________________________________________________________________

 

The Ring of Doom was in fact an open space. A large circle of earth lay beyond a set of golden gates, with two withered tree stumps somewhere in the distance. These were once the Two Trees of Valinor, long destroyed. This was where the Valar held congress with each other. It was also their place of judgement. At the center of the mound, a ways before the trees, there was a line of eight thrones. This was where the Valar, specifically the eight Aratar, the most ‘exalted’ of the Valar, seated themselves. Each throne was made of different material. One was literally a tree that had been manipulated to grow in the shape of a seat with branches sprouting out of it at all angles. Another was made of carved stone. Yet others shone brightly in the night as if they were made of pure starlight. The tallest and grandest of the thrones stood in middle and was made of white marble with veins of deep blue running through it. 

Ëonwë and Sauron came upon the island swiftly. Gently placing them both on the ground beyond the gates, Ëonwë regarded Sauron as the dark Maia took in his surroundings. He was surprised to see an island as the Ring of Doom instead of a palace, which he had imagined. When he saw the thrones, his spirit shrank, finding itself caught completely off guard. 

The thrones were not vacant. The Valar sat there watching him. 

Sauron glanced over all eight of them, recognizing each on sight. Yavanna had draped herself upon the throne of branches and she tossed her head back in mirth when he saw her. Aulë sat next to her. Sauron felt a pang of nostalgia seeing his old master. Aulë’s skin and hair were as dark as Yavanna’s, and quite similar, though Aulë gathered his braids in a band at the back of his head. His eyes were pale grey, as cold and judgmental as Sauron remembered. Rarely ever smiling, the stern Vala leered at him coldly. 

Varda sat next to Aulë, her holy skin so fair and white it was actually almost a shade of pale blue. Her body seemed to shine with a brilliance that made Sauron’s skin tingle, remembering how he had burned upon entering this place. He could not gaze upon her for more than a few seconds. 

He recognized also Mandos, standing with his figure covered by a black cloak. He was the only one standing behind his throne instead of sitting. Somewhere in the hood of his cloak was a face, but none could see it for his whole head was shrouded in the shadow that hood. The only visible parts of his body were his hands, strong and pale. 

The rest of the Aratar were there as well, except for Ulmo who made no appearance, but Sauron fixed his gaze on Manwë. He was seated next to Varda in the grandest throne. Long white hair hovered around his body like a cloud in constant motion, so that it reminded Sauron of Melkor years ago. Manwë had a serious but surprisingly approachable face, with a short white beard that seemed to evaporate and reform rhythmically around the edge of his chin. Clothed in a white robe, the Elder King looked tired and concerned. His brow was furrowed as he stared at the two Maia standing before him. 

Ëonwë came up next to Sauron and put a hand on the small of the Noldorin’s back. Leaning close to his ear, Ëonwë whispered, “This is the part where you bow. Do it now.” 

Sauron moved quickly out of Ëonwë’s arms and approached the thrones. He felt suddenly quite small and insignificant with too many sets of eyes watching his every move, probing into his very thoughts.

Shaking off some of the insecurity, Sauron looked up again at Manwë and made eye contact. The king looked completely unchanged at the sight. Then Sauron dropped to his knees, letting his pride coil into ball somewhere deep within him. He placed his hands on the ground as well and finally bowed his head. 

He could bring himself to say nothing.

Ëonwë stood a ways from him and announced loudly, “Holiest of the Valar, I have brought Sauron the Abhorred, once called Mairon the Cunning, for your judgement. He came to us without chains and at his own behest. He told me that he desires to let his truth be known.” 

“And what,” Manwë began with a deep, clear voice that seemed to vibrate Sauron’s core, “is your truth, then?” He finished his question with a tired sigh. 

Sauron gazed at a fix point on the ground. His fingers clenched the grass slightly. What would he say that could pass the Valar’s judgement? Fire roared within him as fear began to settle in. He had no idea what to say. 

They waited in silence.

Finally Manwë spoke again. “Will you not speak? You have come a long way to hold congress with us, and after a battle such as Arda will never forget. So much fighting. So many souls lost. Were you there, spirit? Were you in that battle?”

At last, something he could admit to. “Yes, I was there,” Sauron said, still staring at ground.

“Of course you were,” Manwë continued. “I believed to have seen your presence in battle. Though you take a different form now, why is that?” 

“I believed, oh King, that thou and thine fellow Valar would prefer to see me in a form most fair, fairer than my form in battle, and recognizable to thine eyes.” He spoke as formally as he could bring himself to speak, while swearing no allegiance to Manwë. He lifted his head up again, glancing at each of them. “Does this form not please thee?”

Manwë sighed again. “I do not look for pleasure when I gaze upon you. I look for honesty. Why have you brought yourself here? Do you wish to declare yourself separated from Morgoth, to denounce your allegiance with him? Speak now, what would you have us understand about you?”

Sauron lowered his head again. He chose his words very carefully. “I would have you understand that my alliance with Melkor was one that gave me much authority and much approval to do as I wished throughout Beleriand. Being a Maia, I made my choice out of pride and desire for power. Seeing now that I have lost all that power has awoken a new kind of understanding within me. I wish to assert myself differently upon the world now, no longer in the service of others who might lead me astray.” 

Everything he said was at least half true. He hoped that the Valar believed his words and did not read too carefully into any kind of intent behind what he said. 

“Astray indeed,” said a different voice. Sauron knew it instantly as Aulë’s. “Do you know what you have done? All the destruction and torment you’ve caused? And to innocent creatures. An Ainu should not be so concerned with the lives of the First and Secondborn children. It is blasphemy.” 

“It certainly is blasphemy, what you have done, spirit,” said Manwë in agreement. “Do you hold any remorse for that?” 

“Remorse I feel not,” Sauron replied, finding himself completely unable to lie for some reason. “I feel only numbness and shame. My world and my home have been shattered. Any grief that I would feel for the creatures I have harmed has been eclipsed by a sense of confusion and lack of direction.” He let his words rang a bit then said, “I know not what to do.” 

A familiar voice answered his unspoken question. “You should be remorseful! That’s how you should be feeling.” It was Yavanna. “If you cannot find it in yourself to feel that way then it is obvious to me you will never abandon your dark ways.” 

Sauron had no argument, but luckily another womanly voice spoke out that he did not recognize. “Let us not forget, that all creatures suffer grief. If he has lost his true home, than his grief is too much of a burden on him right now for him to feel much else.” 

“I thought you would say that, Nienna,” Yavanna replied in anger. “And I heard your comment before it was said. Ever has your pity for the creatures of darkness caused us more hardship! Can you not see that this spirit has lost all understanding of the way of Our Father?” 

“I see only that he is in great pain,” Nienna said. “Is it our duty, as Ainu also, to ignore such suffering and cast him out?” 

“No it is not, certainly,” said Manwë, ending the argument. “We cannot ignore the pain he has suffered, but we can also not belittle the fact that this spirit has marred Arda in his own way. And of his own volition, because he desired power! It is most unbecoming of an Ainu, as we have said, and unspeakable by our laws. Therefore, I will give my judgement now.” 

Despite himself, Sauron glanced upward and saw Manwë staring at him with such intensity that he immediately lowered his head again to avoid it. “You, Sauron the Abhorred, formerly Mairon the Cunning. Whatever name you choose to adorn yourself, you will be banned from entering Valinor henceforth. You may do as you wish in the lands of the east, but no more will you be able to dwell in the holy lands of your fellow Ainur. You will exist as a creature of Middle-earth, though all your spiritual powers you shall keep. Use your abilities as a Maia well. I recommend you use them to teach the Secondborn many arts, as Ëonwë has committed to do. It is a good use of a Maia’s energy. Are all my brethren present here in agreement?” 

At the lack of response, Sauron lifted his head. Most of the Valar were nodding or offering other signs of agreement. Yavanna crossed her arms over her chest. Then she leaned back against her throne and said, “Fine. Let him do what he wants. Let’s see how that turns out for us.” 

“Alright, then,” Manwë continued. “Mandos, make it so.” The black cloaked figure nodded its head ominously. Sauron knew that he was now actually prohibited from coming back to this place, the possibility of doing it had been erased from his future, but that sentence seemed to him rather easy to accept. He had no intention of returning here anyway. 

“It is fitting that you have chosen the form of the Noldor,” the Elder King said. “For you will suffer their same fate. Maybe that is what gave me the idea.” He gave Sauron a small smile then said, “But enough. Arise and stand aside if you wish to be present for the trial of Morgoth.” 

After a brief moment, Sauron rose to his feet and walked over towards where Ëonwë was standing, beckoning him. His legs were slightly unsteady, but he kept all his dignity intact. Until, of course, Ëonwë grabbed both of his shoulders and whispered to him, “Well done. You have spoken honestly and they recognize that. And your sentence is not so terrible. It seems we are to be true brothers, then, working side by side. I can think of worst fates.” 

At that, Ëonwë began kneading his shoulders. Sauron tried not to go rigid in discomfort. Then one hand strayed downward and came to rest at the small of his back. Ëonwë leaned closer and said, “Surely we can find our own enjoyment in the task. Will you not yield to my light, dear brother?” The hand slid downward still and cupped his backside. 

Sauron fought the urge to retch. How much longer would he have to suffer this unbearable fool? He hoped dearly the advances would stop before the trial. To Ëonwë he said, “You have seen my act of contrition. Do you not understand me now?” 

“I believe I do,” said the other Maia, squeezing his ass uncomfortably. Fire started to kindle within Sauron in anger at the way he was being treated. He longed for revenge, just a simple act of utter revenge...

Then Manwë called out in a loud voice. “Let the guardian enter!” The gates beyond opened. 

“Oh yes, I almost forgot,” said Ëonwë, removing his hands from Sauron’s body. The Noldorin took a step away from him surreptitiously. “They have chosen the one to stand by the Door of Night and keep guard.” 

A blonde-haired elf walked into the room. He wore a golden suit of armor, polished to the point of sparkling. Sauron recognized him as one of the Vanyar. That was the creature they had chosen? Somehow, he had expected one more menacing. 

After the Vanyar had taken his place a little ways away from the two Maiar, Manwë turned to Mandos. “Bring out Morgoth,” he instructed, in a low voice. Suddenly Mandos disappeared. It seemed he had disembodied and had gone to retrieve the prisoner. 

“Bauglir has been kept in the Halls of Mandos until now,” Ëonwë explained. “A familiar prison for him, no doubt.” He crossed his arms and held them at the elbows. Sauron noticed a faint smile on Ëonwë’s face and perceived that he was getting enjoyment out of all this. He wondered how such a creature could be in the service of Manwë, who flaunted righteousness. He guessed that righteousness was not necessarily the same thing as pity, nor as compassion. Righteousness cared only for what was fair.

They all heard some movement beyond the gates. Mandos approached the thrones, dragging something that scraped against the ground noisily. Sauron had to look closely to tell what the black heap was that Mandos had brought. In horror, he realized that it was his lord, being dragged on the floor by his elbow. Melkor’s hands had been chained together and around his neck he wore the collar that had once been his crown. Another chain ran from the collar to the chains around his wrist, so that he could not move his neck or arms freely. 

Mandos dropped Melkor on his stomach before the thrones. Sauron watched, all numbness in him shattered at the sight of his beloved master crumpled before his enemies. With difficulty, Melkor tossed some of his black hair away from his face so that he could see the Valar. He straightened his shoulders, chains rattling, and stared at them all as Sauron had done.

Gazing upon Manwë, Melkor broke into a slight smirk. “Hello, brother,” he said. “You’re looking tired.” 

Manwë looked at him, the weariness on his face giving way to a kind of pain that saw Melkor as the source. “Indeed I am tired. I assume you have some knowledge as to the reason,” said the King. 

Before Melkor could say anything, Mandos interrupted. “This creature can no longer disembody,” he proclaimed in a serious voice. Some of the Valar gasped. “Nor can he walk, as Ëonwë has removed his feet.” 

All eyes looked down at Melkor’s bloody ankles. Nienna turned her head and began weeping soundlessly. 

“Have you done this, Ëonwë?” Manwë asked, turning towards the Maia.

“It is true,” Ëonwë responded flippantly.

Manwë shifted uncomfortably on his throne. “That is a bit extreme. I ask for more restraint in the future, from everyone. This is Morgoth Bauglir, but we have known him as Melkor. One of the Ainur, and my brother! It is in our laws to treat him with some decency.” 

“Decency?” cried Melkor, still lying on the floor. “What decency has been afforded me, in chains like a slave before the same creatures of my kind? Me, whom you all recognize as the mightiest among you!” 

Speaking in a voice with tones like music, Varda answered, “Perhaps you were mighty in the past, Melkor. But you lay before us now no longer a Vala. You have corrupted yourself beyond the point of no return and are now lowlier than the Firstborn, unable to heal any of your wounds and unable to release your spiritual form.” 

Melkor looked down. Sauron could feel pain emanating off of him at her words. How he had always hated Varda. His lord spoke again. “If you have already decided that is what I am, then what do you plan to do with me now that you have me?”

“Before we tell you, let me ask you a question,” said Yavanna. “Was it worth it to steal the Silmarils and taint your power as such so that you lost most of your Ainu abilities? Were the Silmarils so covetous that you would give up everything that made you a Vala?” She sounded legitimately curious, as if she had pondered this question many times.

“What do you know of the Silmarils?” Melkor hissed. “Their power is something only I am worthy of possessing! From the moment I saw them, I knew that only I deserved ownership of their beauty, that it was my right. My absolute right above anyone else’s, as is ownership of Beleriand. And all that is true, yet you would deny me what is my right! I know not why it concerns any of you.” 

“You have no right to ownership, Melkor,” Aulë said, shaking his head. “None of us do. That is not the way of Ainur.”

Melkor grinned, turning to Manwë. “And you, brother? Have you not proclaimed ownership over all of Arda as the Elder King?”  

Manwë shook his head. “I do not own Arda. I look after it, as was instructed to me by the Father. I am but a caretaker of the realms here and though many call me king, I would prefer to be called a shepherd who leads those that would be lost.” 

“And am I not lost?” Melkor said. “You would forsake me now, your own brother, when I am at my weakest and lowest point?” 

Manwë brought his hands to his face and covered his eyes. “I would never forsake you, Melkor. But we cannot allow you to roam freely over the world as you have...”

“Freely?!” Melkor began to rage from where he lay, pounding chained fists against the floor. “Long have I been a prisoner! A prisoner of this body, a prisoner to the physical pain of a mortal form. I have been in battles that have left me scarred, as you well know. The pain from all the wounds that I suffered still lingers! Can you not see how I have already suffered?” 

Sauron blanched as he watched Melkor come to tears. He wanted to abandon all false pretenses, to approach his lord in the form of a winged creature and carry him to safety, where none could gaze upon him with contempt. Or perhaps he would take the shape of a vicious werewolf and attack any that approached his lord with ill intent. He would become a snake and coil around Melkor’s body, giving his lord the comfort of companionship wherever the Valar might lead him.

None of these forms did he take.

“And yet, Melkor, even in that body you are a danger to the world,” said Manwë sadly. “I am sorry, brother, but your fate has already been decided.” The King’s gaze fell on Mandos and he nodded. 

Mandos summoned Angainor the Unbreakable and held the chain out towards Melkor. The fallen Vala recoiled at the sight of it. 

“Angainor, again?” he said. “You would force me to bear this heavy burden as a mortal world bear it?” He tried to crawl away, but Mandos grabbed him and hooked the heavy chain around his collar. The Lord of the Dead wrapped the chain around Melkor’s chest, binding his arms even further. Then he turned to the Vanyar and offered Angainor for him to take. 

Wordlessly, the elf approached and took the chain. Sauron noticed that the Vanyar’s eyes had changed color and he realized then that this was no ordinary elf. He did not know what manner of creature it was and that seemed ominous. 

“You have been sentenced to an eternity beyond the Door of Night, in the outer voids. None can reach you and never can you escape,” Mandos read the sentence without emotion. 

“The voids?” Melkor cried, face stained with tears. He strained against the manacles and chains that held him. “Do you think that will hold me? Do you think I will not find some way to escape and seek revenge for such treatment?!”

Manwë sighed and gazed upon his brother without any trace of compassion, only weariness. His only response was, “Yes, brother. I do think that.” 

“Away,” Mandos called to the Vanyar-like creature. Without any word, it transformed into a giant eagle, one of Manwë’s creatures. A shape-shifter, then. Holding the chain in its claws, it began to fly away. 

Sauron saw that his time was nigh. All eyes were on the eagle and Melkor, who had begun raining down curses on everyone in attendance. Not wasting another second, Sauron disembodied and went towards the eagle, hovering around it like a shadow as it began to fly away .

Below him, he heard Ëonwë cry, “My lord, Mairon has disappeared!” Any other words were lost as he followed the eagle upwards and out of the Ring of Doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to end on a cliffhanger! The next chapter will have a lot of details so I wanted to give some pacing. Update coming soon!


	5. Imprisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Door of Night is an actual door and it exists in the far reaches of the world. What will Melkor and Sauron find when they finally see it for themselves?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I noticed that I was putting Eönwë's umlaut in the wrong place at times in the last few chapters (over the E instead of the o). Sorry about that! I have no beta for this story so that's all just bad editing on my part haha. I fixed it in this one and might go back and fix it in previous chapters, so I hope that does the canon enough justice. Also, stay tuned for the sequel to this story: "A Study in Diacritics: The Case of Eönwë and the Migrating Umlaut." ;)
> 
> Enjoy the new chapter!

Chapter 5: Imprisoned

The eagle flew straight upwards, almost completely vertical at some points. There was no way to know if it could sense Sauron’s spiritual presence or not, but it gave him no heed. The creature seemed entirely devoted to its task, holding Angainor’s length in one claw and Melkor’s body in the other.

For his part, Melkor said little. Once he tried to threaten the so-called guardian, saying, “Turn back now, creature! If you bring me to the voids, I will lay a curse upon you so fierce your very mind will burn upon hearing it spoken...” Then he fell silent, watching the sky of Valinor turn into darkness as the eagle continued its upwards climb. 

They reached the empty space that lay just outside the physical world. Sauron could still discern this space as part of Arda, but they had gone beyond the sky into the farther reaches of the world. This was the place where Tilion and Arien now bore the Moon and Sun, a realm that only Ainur (and perhaps Ëarendil with the blessing of the Valar) could withstand. Sauron could not say that he saw true night, but rather a kind of absence of physicality that made their surroundings appear dark. The eagle then changed its course and moved straight, traversing much distance in a short time.

Sauron was shocked to find an actual door appear in the distance. The eagle approached, no longer beating its wings as there was no air to propel its body. It laid Melkor down on some kind of hard surface that existed near the door’s entrance. 

Here was the Door of Night: The gateway between the realm of Arda and the outer nothingness beyond. They were standing on the very cusp of the world. Because this space was so close to the Door, some of the blackness from the voids had seeped through, causing a web of black shadow to spread outward from the Door against the backdrop of space where they stood. Sauron felt an ominous energy emanating from that blackness. The shadows were imbued with neither goodness nor evil. Instead he felt indescribable, completely ungoverned power in that energy over which the Valar held no sway. 

It was the most frightening thing Sauron had ever seen.

The eagle reassumed its Vanyar-like form and stood beside Melkor, holding Angainor with both hands. Its eyes were now pure white in color, devoid of any irises or pupils. A terrible strength poured out of those eyes and the creature had fixed its gaze on Melkor. 

Seeing the horror of his future written in the blackness of the Door, Melkor turned back to his captor, searching that fearsome face for any sign of emotion. “If you free me now,” the fallen Vala said, “I will adorn you in all the riches of the physical world. Power, pleasure, servants...anything you want will be yours, I promise!” 

The Vanyar looked down at him, face unchanged. Melkor scrambled to his knees to face the guardian more fully. “It’s the truth!” he said desperately. “Name what it is a creature such as you desires and I can give it. Just spare me from this horrible fate and bring me back to Arda, I beg of you!” 

Saying nothing, the creature began to pull the chain in the direction of the Door, dragging Melkor along with it. Clearly, whatever the guardian was, it was beyond entreaty. Sauron saw this and knew that he would now have no other choice. He would have to confront this creature.

The guardian put his hand on the Door to open it. Wasting not another second, Sauron reassumed his physical form. He chose the human-like body he was used to occupying as lieutenant, his most recognizable form, even though it offered him little defense with no armor or sword. In the loudest voice he could muster, the Maia cried out, “Stop!”

Two sets of eyes turned to him. Melkor’s jaw dropped as he laid on eyes on the familiar body of his lieutenant, momentarily floored as he had believed the Maia to be currently roaming Beleriand as instructed, hidden far from the Valar’s sight. Now here he was, the foolish and careless servant, right in the middle of the worst possible harm that could come to him. 

Melkor’s first reaction was anger, naturally, and he cried out, “Why?! Why are you here now, Sauron? What...have...” Then confusion settled in and he wondered how it was that Sauron could be there. Realization finally dawned that actually Sauron had followed him, against orders, to this place. He had been there all along. Melkor wanted to be angry even more, and for a moment his rage spiked beyond measure, especially knowing now that Sauron had seen him fallen so low and desperate.

Then the lieutenant looked upon his lord and smiled. It was a confident and familiar smile that he gave often just before a battle when he was assuring his lord of victory. Shocked, Melkor felt his anger melt away. Suddenly the Vala wanted nothing more than Sauron’s presence, a beautiful sight in the face of such horror. 

“Sauron...” he said. “You would follow me...even here...” Melkor wanted to reach out to his lieutenant, longing fiercely to be embraced now more than ever. He found that he could not move his arms in the grip of such chains.

Sauron saw his lord struggle to move. He called to the guardian. “You! If you desire to cast my lord into the endless void beyond, then turn and face me now!” 

Fighting seemed to be the only option. So the shape-shifting Maia chose the most fearsome form he could think of to match the guardian. He transformed into a ball of pure flame and out of that flame arose wings, large and mighty, followed by a horned head and animalistic but man-shaped body wreathed in dark fire. He had chosen to become a Balrog. 

Now much larger than the guardian, Sauron bellowed into the space around them hoping to inspire fear. Melkor felt much joy at the sight. Then the Balrog charged towards the pair at the Door, his long claws extended to pierce the guardian. 

Within a step of his target, Sauron suddenly felt blocked by strong pressure. He staggered backwards feeling as if he had just charged against a wall. Shaking his fiery head in response, the Balrog refocused on the two figures ahead of him. Nothing visible stood in his path, but he knew that some kind of force prevented him from moving forward. What could wield such a force?

Confused, Sauron had no choice but to look on. The guardian appeared not to have moved a muscle. It stared back at the Balrog and broke into a wide grin, showing off teeth that were inhumanly white. Without a word, it turned away and opened the Door of Night. 

The Vala and Maia found that they were staring into a mouth of utter blackness, as terrifying and powerful as they had imagined. Something about that darkness seemed to have a corrupting agency, as if the energy from it could taint physical matter. Melkor shuddered to think about what would happen to him in there. 

Seeing that blackness changed something within the Vala. He realized that this Door had been waiting for him. Patiently, as if it served no other purpose than for him to enter. And there was nothing Sauron could do to change that. 

Melkor looked back sadly at his lieutenant. The Balrog was fighting with all his strength to approach them, but Melkor knew it would never happen. He wanted to say goodbye, a proper goodbye this time, and to explain everything that he now knew. But no words would come. So he merely extended his arm as far as he could in the direction of the Balrog, hoping that Sauron would sense what he was feeling.

The guardian lifted Melkor by the chains and threw him into the void. Blackness swallowed the Vala’s figure. He was gone from sight. Then the guardian closed the Door with a resounding clang.

All movement stopped. Horror broke over Sauron. His lord was...gone, truly. He had seen it happen. Failure, again! 

The fire around the Balrog grew unquenchably hot. He was more furious than he could ever remember and the only thing in his sight now was that hateful creature with the golden figure, who stood smiling at him even now.

Without thinking, Sauron charged again towards the guardian. This time his path was unblocked. He wanted to rip apart that creature piece by piece, no longer caring what it was. Once that being was rendered completely useless, its name would matter not.

Sauron braced himself for contact as his Balrog’s hand was poised to rip into the guardian’s chest. His vision went dark for a moment. Out of nowhere, he felt hands around his neck. How...?

Vision clearing, Sauron saw that the guardian had grown. Now it was much larger even than the Balrog. Though it kept an elf-like form, the creature had a new sense of wildness about it. The pure whiteness from its eyes glowed beneath the skin of the Vanyar, irradiating its whole body from within. 

Helpless, Sauron stopped struggling for a moment as he beheld the sight. The guardian leaned in close against the Balrog’s ear and whispered, sounding more deadly than any scream: “Never come back.” 

Then the Maia was cast downward. Sauron felt himself falling back towards Arda, darkness again giving way to light as he re-entered the sky and fell farther still. He struggled to get his Balrog’s wings to work, but the force of his fall was too great. Caught in the descent, he continued to fall until he lost all sense of his surroundings and passed into unconsciousness. 

So it was that Melkor was cast into the void beyond the Door of Night without Sauron, despite his best efforts, being able to stop it. 

______________________________________________________________________

Sauron lay unconscious for some time. He knew not where he had fallen, but he felt strong earth beneath his body. Every time he tried to move, the sinews of his Balrog’s body proved useless, ignoring even the simplest command. Instead of fighting  his muscles, the Maia simply let himself drift in and out of consciousness. His mind’s eye kept conjuring the image of the guardian’s face, graceful and terrible, whispering to him various things. 

 _Never come back..._ Those eyes. What in the name of Ilúvatar was that beast? 

 _Sauron..._ He imagined now his lord’s face the second before he was thrown in the void. Sauron had seen much fear on that face, as never before, but he had also seen some sad realization written in Melkor’s features. As if, just before the deed was done, his lord had accepted the inevitability of his fate. 

_You would follow me...even here..._

“Yes, my lord. Of course.” He mumbled the words aloud, or at least he thought he did, from where he lay. Sauron regretted that he had not actually said that when he was face to face with Melkor. But perhaps his lord knew the truth, anyway.

Gradually, Sauron registered the sound of crying coming from somewhere in the distance. He tried to discern if the sound was coming from the physical realm or from some...other source.

Finally, he opened his eyes.

Yes, this was definitely the physical world. It was daytime. The sky above him shone pale blue with clouds idly passing back and forth. Sauron looked upon the sky with contempt, seeing the natural beauty of it as a masquerade for the horror that waited beyond the clouds. He scowled and tried to sit up.

It took some time, but slowly Sauron felt his Balrog’s muscles begin to move. He was able to bring himself into a sitting position. Every part of him screamed in pain. It seemed that falling such a great distance, indeed the very length of the world, was enough to mangle the bones of a Balrog. Well, that could be fixed. Slowly, letting himself feel the agony of each settling bone, Sauron reformed his body. He chose to return to his original form, the one he wore most comfortably. Most of the Balrog’s fire had been smote upon colliding with the earth anyway, so it had lost much of its fearsome qualities. He preferred his familiar muscles and burning eyes of flame at the moment.

Now himself again, Sauron peered around where he had fallen. White towers stood serenely in the distance, showing off the engineering skill of the Eldar. So. Tol Eressëa then. Close enough to Aman to be a threat, but at least he had landed somewhere familiar. He wondered if any of the Eldar living here had seen him fall. That certainly would have been quite the sight. A Balrog of Morgorth falling from the sky. In mirth, he hoped they had gotten a chance to see it. 

He struggled to his feet, bones still cracking as he stood. There seemed to be no other living creatures around him at the moment. Then where had that crying come from? Perhaps it was an Eldar child, crying in fear gazing upon him. Or perhaps some other being. A woman maybe. Sauron shook his head, dismissing all other ideas. The sound had come so mysteriously that there was no way to tell what had become of it, or if it was ever even real.

In regards to any kind of plan, Sauron felt at a loss. He would need to plan his actions moment by moment. The first thing that need to be done was to get off this lonely isle. It was no place for him to dwell for too long. Looking at the sky, Sauron quickly figured out which was east. He walked that way. 

He thought of little as he moved, except the need to be somewhere dark, where all memory of the sky and of falling could be buried. What of Angband and the ruins he had left behind? There was no way to salvage any of that. He would have to abandon all hope of that returning to that place. No, he would venture as far as he could into the east instead, as far from Valinor as possible. 

He found himself on a beach, facing out into the sea. The water stretched on before him in promise. Now he would have to reassume the shape of some flying creature and fly across the sea towards whatever had become of the world beyond. It was a strangely tiring thought.

As Sauron stared at the sea, he felt the cool breeze pick up around him. He faced the direction of the wind and it grew even stronger. He looked away and sighed. Ah yes. Apparently the Valar, or at least one of them, were aware of his presence in Tol Eressëa. Time to leave, then.

“I cannot help but feel betrayed, Sauron.” 

Not even bothering to turn around, Sauron continued to stare off into the distance and responded, “I care not, Eönwë.”

“So it seems,” Eönwë said. “It seems there is very little one such as you would care about. Least of all the laws of the Ainur.” Anger resonated within the servant of Manwë’s words. Sauron felt no threat from him, though. He was beyond the point of seeing Eönwë as a reasonable adversary, or even as a true creature of the light. He saw only an arrogant creature that had turned into itself for pleasure and comfort, in the process losing touch with the truth of others. Sauron was the opposite kind of creature. He saw only the truth beneath the lies others would flaunt on the surface.

 “As you say,” Sauron said, getting ready to assume the body of a crow once again and leave Eönwë behind once and for all.

Suddenly he found the white-haired Maia standing in front of him blocking his view of anything else. All Sauron could see was Eönwë’s furious face, wind rustling around his body to accentuate his feelings.

“How dare you, Sauron! I thought us to be brethren! I believed every word you told me about your supposed contrition and how you truly longed to abandon the ways of the past! What of your words to the Valar? How do you wish to assert yourself upon the world now?”

Sauron moved even closer to Eönwë to prove that he was not afraid of any scorn the Maia could throw at him, nor was he going to fulfill the submissive role as he had done before. 

“You believed my words with all your heart, did you not, Eönwë?” he said. “That is truly precious. You saw only what you wished to see. Never once did you reflect upon what you had done to my master when you maimed him. Nor did you consider the wrath a spirit like mine would feel at being treated like your whore!”

Eönwë looked shocked. “My whore? I called you brother!”

“And what brother would that be, thrall of Manwë, to submit to you like a slave?” Sauron felt fire building within him. His eyes had grown wild, flame eclipsing most of his face and head.

Eönwë appeared honestly hurt. “I thought...I thought you felt as I did, brother...”

Black pupils pulsing, Sauron said, “I am not your brother. Never did I harbor such feelings, nor will I ever. You have made a grave mistake.”

Eönwë looked down for a moment, then raised his gaze up to face Sauron head on. “You told me that you desired to let your truth be known. Then what, in the name of the Father and all His creations, is your truth?”

Fury consumed Sauron. His emotions had been building for some time, but this was the pinnacle moment when wrath overtook him completely. He lost all control of his form and transformed into a body of naked flame, no shape or reminiscent appearance, just pure fire that engulfed Eönwë in a burning grip. 

“THIS is my truth.” Somehow Sauron found himself able to communicate, though not with words from a mouth, but rather as thoughts transmitted directly into the mind. 

Eönwë lost himself to fear in that grip. The anger and absolute darkness within Sauron was something he had never seen before, and he recognized the Maia’s power for being able to control others with such dominating fire. Eönwë made no noise, but instead channelled all his power into the creation of a gust that would free him from this hellish embrace.

Sauron felt wind building in his grasp and moved to crush Eönwë more tightly to snuff it out. For a long moment, the two Maia battled each other as wind and fire. It was a contest of willpower between two elemental beings, but there could be no winner. Finally, Sauron began to fear that Eönwë’s air might smote his flame, much as Eönwë feared that Sauron would completely envelop him in fire, so they both released their hold. 

Before any words could be spoken, Sauron rose above, still as a fire spirit, and bore himself across the ocean into the east. He was done with Valinor, forever. His fate had already been decided.

Eönwë was left standing on the shore, staring at the smoke in Sauron’s wake. He shivered at the memory of being burned in such a way, but no true harm had come to his form. The white-haired Maia wrapped his arms around his body and shook his head. This event had made him come to a decision. Never again would he trust the creatures of darkness. They must all be defeated.

______________________________________________________________________

 Arda as Sauron knew it was much changed when he saw the lands to the east. He did not know how long he had tarried in the west, nor how much time passed since he had fallen from the abyss, but the world was different now. Whole mountain chains and lakes had disappeared and reappeared anew somewhere else, like the world had undergone some internal spasms and then reformed itself. This raised some questions. Was the earth itself a shape shifter in truth?

Retaining his form of naked fire, Sauron spent his days passing across this new land, taking in everything there was to see. Middle-earth this place was called now. He looked for signs of life or any new kingdoms. It seemed that most of the elves had departed for their so-called havens to the west, leaving the Edain to fend for themselves. As for the Edain, some men had appeared in a new homeland of elf-man hybrids on the western-most border of Middle-earth. He did not like the sound of these creatures who called themselves Númenoreans. What kind of power did they have? 

As for the men leftover from the First Age, they were practically helpless as they wandered around in strange lands without the aid of any worldly knowledge. Other than base amusement, Sauron considered them quite useless. The Eldar that remained in Middle-earth had desired kingdoms to rule for themselves, but for the most part those kingdoms lay towards the west and south of this new world. The east was still largely unclaimed.

It was in some of the unclaimed lands that Sauron settled for a while. There were mountains here that reminded him of some of the mountains in his old homeland. Dark and shadowy were their heights. He liked the look of these peaks and adopted the name that others called them, Ered Lithui the Mountains of Ash. He decided to dwell in Udûn for a while. 

Finding comfort in the shade of the uninhabited mountains, Sauron rested. He needed time to regroup after another bitter failure at the Door of Night. He needed to make some decisions about his next course of action. Would he try to face the guardian again? How could he ever defeat such a creature? Besides, there was much to be done in this new Middle-earth now, many things he saw to do that would bring himself to the status of a lord perhaps if he made the right moves. 

Still in his possession was Yavanna’s gift. It glowed brightly against the dismal backdrop of the mountains. It reminded him of a time when his actions had been more purposeful. 

Sauron wondered now if this gift was not some kind of a trick on Yavanna’s behalf. What would she gain from giving him this? Beyond that, would this power still work so far away from her pastures in Valinor? 

He decided that even if it was a trick, perhaps there was something to be gained by looking into his past. Besides, the present by itself looked fairly grim at the moment. If there was a move to be made, this glowing ball seemed the best place to start. 

Holding it in his hands, Sauron began to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a lot of flashback, and then this story is heading towards the end! :( So many emotions. Until next time!


	6. Recluse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron retreats into visions of the past for comfort. What wisdom can be gained from looking into the past?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fairly long. It was kind of a beast to write, but here it is finally! Enjoy, take it in shifts if you have to!

Chapter Six - Recluse

So many memories to choose from...Sauron found it difficult to decide which one to pick. He was also not sure how the process worked, if he needed to actively think of a specific point in time to conjure that memory or if the spell simply showed him something at random. 

He probed his spirit for one image that could focus his mind. Whatever the gift would show him, Sauron knew that it would be a pleasant memory if it was related to this image, his favorite and most frequented place in Angband. 

The Maia closed his eyes and let warmth take him. The golden light from the earth in his hands radiated outward, flowing into his skin. He remembered the feeling.

His surroundings changed. Instead of the dismal coldness of the Ered Lithui, Sauron could feel sweltering heat bouncing off his body. It was a primal heat, found in the deep places of the world, and its familiarity was an incredible comfort to Sauron even though he knew it was just a memory recreated. 

He opened his eyes and reveled at the sight before him. Just what he had expected. Here were the forges of Angband, a dwelling of Sauron’s own design, where he spent much of his downtime as lieutenant ever since entering Melkor’s service. The forge was lit only by a large pit of fire, churning with an enchantment Sauron had laid upon it so that it was by far the hottest fire most conducive to metalwork. He saw now his workbenches alongside the pit, piles of weapons and other works settled in a corner. 

As before, Sauron at first had a birds-eye view of the scene. He roamed his eyes over the creations in the corner, trying to discern which point in time this was by what he was making, but it was too vague to tell. Sure enough though, Sauron could see his own profile at a workbench beside the pit of flame. His vantage point settled until he stood on ground level. 

At present, Sauron’s younger self was laying all sorts of mystical enchantments on a piece of leather. When he finished, Sauron watched himself put the leather aside and begin hammering a strip of steel that gave off a dusty, unfinished aura. The jarring sound of hammer on metal, music to the Maia’s ears, reverberated through the forges. This was a well-known sound in Angband back in the day, a sure sign to all creatures that Lieutenant Sauron was hard at work.  

Slowly, Sauron recognized a deep rumbling coming from somewhere near the forges. This was also a familiar sound and it made him smile to recall what was coming next. The rumbling continued until the sound turned into actual vibrations that ran through the floor and walls of Sauron’s workspace. His younger self paused for a second and waited, knowing it would be too difficult to continue hammering with such an earthquake going on.

The vibrations reached a climax and a humongous black shadow entered the space, bringing with it a foul miasma that would have made most creatures swoon. The opposite was true for Sauron; he found the smog’s presence actually added certain very exciting properties to the metalworks he created. One time Sauron had crafted a sword under the miasma’s influence that caused elves fits of debilitating amnesia after a single cut from the sword’s blade. He rather appreciated the smog’s presence, as well as the creature who produced it. 

That creature was now waiting patiently at the far end of the forge. So large was it that the only parts of its body able to fit in the space were its huge, dragon-shaped head and one black-scaled front foot. 

It was Ancalagon, a frequent visitor to Sauron’s workspace. From his place on the sidelines, the Maia looked upon his old friend with bittersweet nostalgia. The last time he had seen this beast was when he had paid respects to the dragon’s corpse. 

‘Welcome as usual, dear dragon,’ Sauron heard his younger self say to Ancalagon. ‘I believe you will find this day’s work agreeable. I am crafting a new helm for the wolf-riders, one that should give them more fluid movement during a ride.’

‘Precious need of that, is there?’ the dragon responded in a deep booming voice, releasing more miasma in the process.

Both versions of Sauron smiled remembering Ancalagon’s skeptical nature. ‘Indeed there is,’ his young self said. ‘The wolf-riders should not be at risk of falling off their steeds every time they go to raise an axe. It defeats the whole purpose. Do you not agree?’

Ancalagon regarded the Maia’s work with one enormous, lizard-like eye. ‘Fair enough,’ he conceded.

Sauron resumed hammering. ‘Let us see what effect your useful miasma will have this time,’ he said, wearing a slight smile.

The largest and most threatening of all dragons, Ancalagon had a disposition that was slightly different from the rest of his breed. Though Melkor had blessed him with wings, Ancalagon preferred to remain underground in seclusion. He liked places that were hot and dark, so forges suited him very well. As far as anyone knew, Ancalagon did not harbor any lust for gold that had been the undoing of Glaurung and many dragons after him. Instead, the black-bodied dragon was drawn to metalworks of another kind: Swords and armor, the likes of which appealed to him because, very surprisingly, Ancalagon had a mind for engineering. Sauron had been approached by the dragon all of a sudden one day while he was working in the forges. After many questions about the nature of smithing, the two began a genuine but guarded friendship. Sauron often gave Ancalagon gifts of discarded metalworks he crafted that had gone wrong or that he simply had no other use for. Ancalagon took everything he was given without hesitation or complaint, showing a distinctly dragon-like passion for even the most mangled chest-plate. Many, including Sauron, believed the dragon had a horde of the things somewhere, but no one knew what would ever come of such a collection. Either way, the Maia and the dragon seemed pleased with their arrangement and their alliance was well known in Angband. Neither of the two were known to show such friendly qualities in their personalities elsewhere, so this was a notable occurrence. 

After watching Sauron for some time, Ancalagon spoke again. ‘So, what business did you have in this duel I have heard so much about?’

Not stopping his work, Sauron replied, ‘One wonders how any news reaches your ears at all, Ancalagon the Black, in your utter seclusion. Tell me, what duel do you speak of?’

‘Something about a Noldo come to challenge the Lord of Angband. I did not believe it, but then I heard the wings of creatures I wish to never speak of again. They were not like dragons...’ Ancalagon began to drift into reverie, but he kept talking. ‘...instead of scales they were covered in feathers and upon their wings these feathers grew thin and  scattered, causing the wind to vibrate in such a way around each stroke of their flight. I had never heard anything like it. Very distressing...’ 

Sauron sighed. ‘You are well informed, then. Yes, there was such a duel between Fingolfin brother of Fëanor and our lord. I am sure you have some idea who was the victor.’ The Maia wished to speak no more on the subject. 

‘Yes, of course,’ Ancalagon said. ‘So, am I to assume you had no part in this battle then?’

‘That is true. I had no part. It was just the two contenders.’ Sauron tossed the metal into the pit of flame and moved onto another piece of steel.

‘Ah. Very well.’ The dragon huffed a bit of smoke from his mouth. They waited in silence for a moment. Finally, he continued. ‘I have seen him, you know. Our Lord Melkor,’ His eye bore down upon Sauron, looking for a reaction.

Giving in, Sauron stopped working and turned to face his dragon companion. ‘When could you have possibly seen him?’ 

‘After the fight.’ The dragon blinked slowly, dragging out his words. ‘I heard the wings of those creatures, as I have said, and I went to see what could make such a noise. I saw a creature there that could possibly be my rival, Sauron. And I saw it mar the face of our Lord.’

Sauron narrowed his eyes in confusion. ‘But...how could you have been there, Ancalagon? None heard or saw you...and you must admit that your presence is very hard to miss.’

Ancalagon rumbled in his throat. ‘All true. But I know how to move through the world in the unseen places, underground mostly, exposing myself to none. I have seen much of this world actually, though I intend not to extend myself into the skies unless utterly provoked.’

Naturally it was very surprising to hear how Ancalagon moved around Beleriand like a great creeping thing, but it did explain the occurrence of certain unusual earthquakes that many creatures spoke of. Besides, all of that was irrelevant at the moment.

‘So, you saw the events unfold then,’ said Sauron, sufficiently irritated to be having conversation. ‘What is it you want to say, dragon?’ 

‘Only that I was surprised,’ Ancalagon admitted. ‘The Lord sustained such injuries. I thought the Valar possessed power far above that of a mere child of the stars. What has become of our Lord, that he is weakened of late?’

This had been a burning question for years. Ever since Melkor returned from his sentence in Mandos’ prison, and that was back just after he had stolen the Silmarils, all creatures of Angband saw their god rather changed. No longer did he appear as a god of fire and ice as they remembered him. The molten lava of his hair had been smote into a shade of black, belying some kind of internal fracturing. It was as if the very fire within him had been damaged somehow. His skin was cold to the touch in a general way, not the living ice as it once was. Additionally, his eyes were changed from icy blue to dull black, though they retained all of their piercing strength from before. 

When Sauron had first laid eyes on his lord after he returned, the Maia barely recognized him. He alone knew how deeply personal the changes were in the Vala. The constant motion that had been part of Melkor’s personality and a visible trait around the fire of his body had both stopped. He spent almost all of his time now behind the Iron Gates of Hell, rarely ever leaving the stronghold to corrupt the earth as he had done so often in the past. 

Every creature in Angband had their questions about this. Still, Sauron would never admit any of his misgivings to Ancalagon, as much as he trusted the dragon’s seclusion to take care of any word spreading. No, it was more that he did not want to speak aloud about any potential failings of his lord.

So Sauron said, ‘It is not wise to speak of the Lord’s weaknesses, especially to me, Ancalagon. Are you not worried about him finding out?’

Ancalagon shifted his head to rest more fully in the space. Now Sauron could see both of his eyes. ‘I am not worried about that,’ the dragon said. ‘Nor should I be. I simply desire to know what has become of him. I thought you would know, for the same reason I thought you would have had a part in the duel.’

Sauron stared at him unflinchingly. ‘What reason is that?’ 

‘It is just logical,’ the dragon answered. ‘You are a powerful sorcerer, more than capable of dueling with a Noldo. Why was it not Sauron the Great who confronted Fingolfin?’

‘Fingolfin challenged Lord Melkor by name,’ Sauron snapped, though he was honestly surprised by the dragon’s words. ‘It would have been shameful for any other to come forth unbidden.’ 

‘More shameful than bearing the scars of an elf’s wounds?’ the dragon challenged.

At this Sauron paused. It was obvious to him why Melkor had chosen to confront Fingolfin. Yet, Ancalagon’s challenge also made sense. Sauron could have destroyed Fingolfin as sure as he had felled countless Noldor before him in the days of their endless siege, or so he thought. Had Melkor asked it of him, Sauron would have gone without any objection. Melkor’s pride, of course, had dictated the decision in the end. The Vala would never let himself cower behind Sauron’s sorcery, even if it was wise to do so. That was just Melkor’s nature. Such was the capricious mind that controlled all the doings of Angband. Everyone knew that; it was their way of life behind the fortress. Why would this dragon, the highest esteemed of his breed, question the order of things? Suddenly, Sauron sensed a more treasonous edge to Ancalagon’s words. 

‘Speak plainly, Ancalagon,’ Sauron said eventually. ‘Tell me what has been working in your mind.’ 

The dragon leaned in closer to Sauron, letting the heat of his smoky breath roll over the Maia’s form. Most would have been burned by such smoke, but Sauron himself was a creature of flame. No amount of heat, even from a flame itself, could ever burn him. 

Slowly, Ancalagon spoke his mind. ‘I see the way of things as they are now, spirit. Melkor created me with a mind too great for my kind, so I must commune with Arda itself to satisfy my curiosity about life. I am he that crawls through the dark, listening for whispers spoken from the heart of this earth...’

As the dragon continued, Sauron’s present self watched from the sidelines, remembering in great detail all that had been said. It had seemed blasphemous at the time, for a dragon to say all this, but now Sauron understood it better. Ancalagon’s life was a curse. Such raw power should not be paired with that kind of depth for understanding. So far below the surface of the earth were places unseen by many, even Melkor himself. Perhaps Ancalagon had managed to somehow speak to the heart of Arda, if such a thing was even possible.

Ancalagon did not pause in his speech. ‘...I know, spirit, that you desire more than your station. You have left marks upon this world that few can rival, and your power resonates now more clearly than that of our Lord. Why do you not take it, then? Why do you not take a kingdom of your own? Or better yet, why do you not depose Melkor and claim this land in your own name?’

From where his younger self stood, Sauron stared at Ancalagon fiercely. At that moment, a seed of desire was planted within him. A kingdom of his own? What...would he do with such power? What could Sauron the Abhorred do with dominion over creatures the way Melkor had? Certainly Sauron had a vision of the world that he would like to see made real. That vision, one of total order and submission of all creatures to the will of a superior god, had been the true reason for his joining with Melkor. He had seen Melkor as that superior god, one to create a more beautiful and perfect Arda. 

But now...? Could he, Sauron, ever fill that spot and be that god?

Younger Sauron shook his head, then slowly broke out into a smile. ‘Strange words from a despondent creature,’ he said. ‘Dominion can belong only to one, Ancalagon. And I have no desire to claim what is not mine.’ 

Ancalagon rumbled in his throat, opening his mouth slightly to let the sound echo. Suddenly his demeanor changed and the dragon moved back to where he had rested at the start.

‘Then, that is all I will say for now,’ the dragon said. ‘No more talk. Instead, show me what metalworks you have made for my collection...’ His voice fell into a purr at the end. 

Sauron gave him what armories lay in the corner and Ancalagon departed. What had passed between them that day change the nature of their friendship from that point on, but Sauron cared little. 

Dragons talked too much. That was truly their ruin.

Letting the memory pass, Sauron found himself surrounded by the grimness of the mountains again. Day it seemed had passed into night. Had it been several hours? The effect of the spell was somewhat disorienting. But truthfully Sauron did not wish to know. He wanted only to think of another memory that he could focus on, something that could bring clarity to what Ancalagon had said. 

Oh there were so many more memories to see...

Sauron did this several more times, until he lost track of days.

______________________________________________________________________

Another vision brought Sauron to edge of Doriath, watching himself as a wolf sniffing along the edges of the forests on the outskirts of Melian’s protective spell. He recognized the situation instantly, the importance of that day irrefutable to himself. This day had changed the progression of his existence. So, the Maia steadied his nerves and watched events unfold.

The black wolf was walking slowly up and down the river Teiglin, pawing at the ground in indecision. Tol-in-Gaurhoth had recently been taken by Lúthien, a very difficult thing to admit. Trying to make up for his failure and humiliation, Sauron had taken to searching for any signs of that pestilent hound, Huan. There were some scores to be settled regarding that hound; he longed to present the beast’s head to his lord on a plate. Once that was done, he could scour the earth for that witch Lúthien. As for her, Sauron would bring her to the torture chambers of Angband and corrupt her elvish light, turning her perhaps into a vampire like Thuringwethil or maybe just a typical orc, whom the elves found disgusting beyond words. Then he would send her back to Thingol rather changed, so that all the Sindar could rue the day they had defied the throne of Angband.

All these thoughts and more did Sauron consider as he walked around the borders of Doriath hoping to pick up a scent. As time passed, he started to feel strong misgivings, as if he should return to Angband quickly in case he was needed. These thoughts he pushed aside, focusing on his goal. 

All of a sudden, the wolf howled in pain. He felt out of nowhere an intense longing, stemming from thoughts about his lord. His spirit told him that something very important and very bad had just happened. The wolf lifted its head and stared in the direction of Angband. There could be no question now, the Maia needed to go back to Angband and  see what was going on for himself. 

Swiftly, the wolf charged across Brethil. He did not let himself consider anything yet, so he just focused on heading north. 

When he reached the Ered Wethrin, Sauron stopped for a moment as he caught a glimpse of red in the distance rapidly approaching him. It was a red blotch in the sky and Sauron recognized it easily, feeling more urgently the need to return to the fortress. The red blotch grew larger as it approached until Sauron could reasonably make out the shape of Gothmog, Lord of all Balrogs. 

Gothmog had seen the Maia as well and now his sight was fixed upon him, until finally the mighty Balrog landed in front of him hastily. He regarded the wolf seriously.

‘I assume you know what’s happened,’ Gothmog said. ‘Is this the route you plan take back to Angband?’ 

Sauron knew this creature well, having served alongside him for many years. It was in Gothmog’s nature to reject all extraneous conversation and simply get to the point. This trait made him a good commander, but often Sauron felt bereft of important information after speaking with him about urgent matters. The Maia admired Gothmog for he was very strong in battle, but the two were not exactly friends, too close in rank for comfort. Their relationship was for the most part strictly business. However they did share an intuitive connection at times, understanding things about the other simply because their minds and wants were often in the same place at the same time.

Hearing the vagueness of Gothmog’s words, Sauron returned to his usual form. ‘I know nothing,’ the Maia said. ‘Only that I sensed something terrible has happened. Tell me, what is it?’

He saw the Balrog look down as if in shame or utter disappointment. ‘The fortress was invaded,’ Gothmog began. ‘Seems it was Thingol’s daughter again. No one is sure how it happened yet, but somehow she made her way to the throne room and tricked Lord Melkor...’

Sauron already knew this would be terrible. He rested his elbow on his sword, bracing for the next sentence.

Gothmog continued in haste, ‘We don’t know how it was done but...she stole a Silmaril. From the crown itself. Melkor was unconscious for a long time after, but now he’s awake and, well...you can imagine his disposition. Also, Carcharoth is missing.’

As news went, that was as awful as it could have been. Sauron sighed for a moment, wanting to tear into Gothmog for allowing such intruders under his watch. Still, there could be plenty of that later when matters were less urgent. Right now he needed to take action. 

‘Where is Lord Melkor now?’ the lieutenant demanded. 

‘He has retreated into the deepest point of Angband, his secret chambers. Whole portions of the fortress did he destroy, Sauron! His wrath was too great for any to calm!’ Gothmog shook his large head at the memory. ‘None of us know what to do. We need a plan of action. The Lord has forbidden any from following him into his chambers, but, we thought that perhaps you...’

At that, the Balrog trailed off, implying that Sauron was the only one who had any chance of reaching Melkor. After hearing what Gothmog had to say, Sauron needed to see Melkor for himself. He could not imagine what kind of pain the Vala was in, having lost a Silmaril to the likes of the Sindar...moreover, the fortress itself was at risk if Melkor’s mood deteriorated any further.

‘What orders have you given, Gothmog?’ Sauron asked, wanting to know where they stood in terms of responding to this offense.

‘I have sent some orc scouts to find any whereabouts of Carcharoth. A trail of man blood was the only thing left in his wake.’ 

‘Is that all? What else have you ordered done?’ Sauron’s eyes flashed in anger.

Gothmog raised two giant arms above his head silently, as if to say that he did not know what else to do.

‘Useless!’ Sauron exlciamed. ‘For a captain and a Balrog, you are painfully unimaginative.’ It was beyond annoying that Gothmog had not taken charge of the situation, but then, coming up with plans on his own was never the Balrog’s strong suit.

‘Then what would the first Lieutenant of Angband have us do?’ Gothmog asked, irritated himself now at the way Sauron was speaking to him.

‘Order some trolls to stand outside the fortress. There could be another attempt on us and we must not be unguarded. Also, double the number of orc scouts you have sent and order them to look in the directions of Doriath and Nargothrond. If this is the work of Lúthien then that fool Beren is with her. They will be seeking shelter and we have a chance to waylay them.’ 

Gothmog stared at him for a moment.

‘Go now! Do as you’re told, wielder of the whip!’ Without any more words, Sauron changed shape into a crow and flew towards Angband, leaving Gothmog to follow his instructions. 

He found the fortress unchanged on the outside, but inside was another matter. Orcs, normally moving swiftly between rooms trying to look busy, were now simply standing around looking like they were unsure what their orders were. Every time Sauron saw a group of these orcs he chastised them without hesitation, threatening them with his sword in the hilt should they hesitate to get back to work. From a grim perspective, Sauron knew it boded very poorly for the orcs to be so lost without the presence of Melkor to drive them.

The first place he visited was the throne room, which had been almost completely upended. Only the throne itself remained intact, everything else had been reduced to piles of rubble. Sauron could see visible lines and missing pieces running across the stone floor and walls, indicating that Melkor had ripped out whole chunks of his surroundings to throw around the room. A trail of this destruction lead from the throne room all the way to the stairs, which Sauron knew would lead far below.

The Maia steadied himself as he approached Melkor’s chambers. He did not know what he would find when he finally reached the bottom of the stairs. If his lord was still in such a state, which was more than likely, then Sauron might encounter something that he would regret seeing later on. Either way, he had no choice but to proceed.

At the very bottom, Sauron found the room where Melkor kept all his personal things, including Grond his mace and various other implements the Vala wanted to keep private. At this point in time, Sauron had never been in that room, which was ironic to the version of himself watching events unfold. It gave him some measure of joy to know what his younger self would find in there during this memory, very different from the scene during the War of Wrath.

The door was shut and locked from the inside. Sauron leaned close to hear what was going on inside the room, but he could discern nothing except silence. He knew that Melkor sensed his presence, probably had sensed him since returning to Angband, such was the Vala’s connection with the place. So there was no point in treading lightly. The Maia stood tall in front of the locked door. 

‘My lord, let me in.’ That was all he said. His voice fell flat in the darkness of the place. 

He heard some rustling behind the door. Nothing happened.

‘My lord, I have given orders in thy stead. I wish to share my planning with thee.’

His lord spoke, voice muffled coming from the other side of the door. ‘What orders have you given without my permission, Sauron?!’ 

‘Open the door so that I can tell thee all that has been done.’ Sauron drew in a deep breath and let it out quietly. 

After a long and very tense moment, Sauron heard a click indicating that the door had been unlocked. Not waiting for any more admission than that, he pushed the door open and went inside.

The inside of Melkor’s room was barely lit, only a small candle burning in the corner. Various items lined the walls, but of them Sauron took no notice. Melkor’s back was to him, a completely dark figure, black hair on black robe, lit only by the warm glow of the candle. That sight alone was enough to completely shock the lieutenant. His lord’s crown was not in its usual place atop Melkor’s head. Quickly, Sauron scanned the room for the crown and found it laying on its side at the complete opposite end of the room, as if Melkor had torn the crown from his head in anguish and cast it as far away from him as possible. Sauron could see now only two Silmarils embedded in the crowd. The central jewel had been removed, leaving a glaring indent in its absence. Such a sight was enough to cause Sauron a fair amount of pain, seeing his lord’s most prideful possession in tatters. 

With his back still turned to his lieutenant, Melkor said tersely, ‘You would come here, Sauron, even when I have forbidden it?’ (This was to become a common trait in the future.) 

Sauron kneeled before answering, keeping his eyes on his lord. ‘As I said, my lord, I want to explain everything that I have ordered so that we can move forward to reclaim what has been lost.’ 

‘Reclaim?!’ Melkor was now yelling. He had turned his head to glare at Sauron and so the Maia could see part of his face, the part that had been badly scarred. ‘What hope is there of reclaiming my precious Silmaril?! It is lost, Sauron, stolen from me by some songstress. Lost, stolen...just to bring torment upon me! That was the intent, Sauron.’ 

Melkor turned around fully now and continued. ‘The Firstborn have long since looked upon my crown in jealousy, desiring the Silmarils for themselves! They must have been plotting this whole time to steal one from me, to prove to me that they could! Yes this was all done, Sauron, to show me their strength and bring me to yield, just as the Valar have been trying to do for centuries.’ Melkor put his hand on the wall beside him and started digging his fingers into the stone. ‘Well I won’t yield, I cannot! They do not know...they do not know...of my power...’

Sauron waited, watching his lord in silence, until it seemed Melkor had trailed off with nothing left to say. The expression on his lord’s face was one of bitter anguish. The Maia could not entirely follow the Vala’s thinking, why did he think it was impossible to reclaim the Silmaril? 

Leaving his face expressionless, Sauron said, ‘Very well, my lord. I have ordered scouts in the direction of Doriath and Nargothrond, hoping to waylay Lúthien if she--’

‘Do not speak that name in my presence!’ Melkor’s booming voice shook the walls and the candle flickered slightly. Sauron stopped speaking, but he stared at the Vala undaunted. ‘Never shall that name be spoken in this fortress, never shall we speak of this travesty ever again! If anyone dares to give words to what has happened on this day...well then, I will destroy that creature on the spot!’ Then more calmly he added, ‘See to it that this is known, Sauron.’

Sauron knew now where this was going. Melkor wanted to move on completely now, pretending as if this whole thing had never happened. Such was his lord’s mood at times. It was the same with his imprisonment in the Halls of Mandos and the appearance of the eagle after he killed Fingolfin. Melkor seemed intent on denying anything that made him seem weak. Now Sauron understood, Melkor did not want to search for the Silmaril because he did not want to admit that it was lost. He would probably go on wearing that crown as if it still held all three jewels in place like before, daring any who looked upon him to say anything to the contrary. A poor retaliation in Sauron’s view of things, but he understood his lord’s will. If Melkor was to start admitting things that had gone badly for him, the whole facade of his unbeatable power would come crashing down around them all, leaving too many questions about what the future held for Angband. The way Melkor saw it, it was better to live in denial.   

‘I...understand, my lord,’ Sauron said, cursing himself for hesitating. 

Melkor caught on. ‘Why did you hesitate, Sauron? What is it festering in your mind? Speak!’ Anger radiated off the Vala and Melkor approached Sauron now until he was almost upon him. The hem of Melkor’s black robe brushed against Sauron’s knuckles. Because he was still kneeling, the Maia’s face was roughly eye level with Melkor’s thighs. He made no motion to back away, wanting to appear unmovable.

‘I hesitated my lord because I thought that thou wouldst have desired a full assault upon our enemies in retaliation. Swift and mighty would be the response from Angband after such a devious act on the part of...the Sindar.’ 

Sauron looked up until his eyes of fire locked with the shining black eyes of his lord. ‘I will bring such hell upon them, my lord, for bringing any harm to thee.’ 

He surprised himself by saying that last part, which he had intended to leave within his own mind. Melkor made no move and said nothing for a while, staring intensely at his lieutenant. Sauron was starting to feel less confident in his words and he looked away, turning his face downward.

Suddenly he felt Melkor’s hand against his chin, forcing his head up. The Vala’s skin was cold to the touch, but nothing like the last time he had been touched by his lord all those years ago when Sauron swore his service. Then Melkor’s skin had been ice. Now his hand felt cool where it came in contact with Sauron’s face, almost refreshing.

‘Look at me,’ Melkor commanded when their eyes met again. Leaving his fingers pressed against Sauron’s chin, the Vala said, ‘You desire revenge then, do you, spirit?’

This was the first time in a long while Melkor had referred to him as ‘spirit.’ It was common for Valar to address Maiar this way, but the two did not often resort to that kind of dynamic. They usually spoke as master and servant or king and lieutenant. But Sauron left that alone and said, ‘Revenge would be fitting indeed.’

‘Why though do you long for vengeance? The harm was done against _my_ crown, Sauron. I have already told you what I desire to be done and yet you linger on the offense. Tell me...’ Melkor bent down to bring their faces closer. ‘...Do you desire my Silmarils for yourself?’

Nothing could be further from the truth. Sauron honestly had no personal love for those jewels on their own, unbearably bright and fairly powerless as they were. He saw them only as a representation of his lord’s pride, which meant a lot to the Maia. 

‘No, my lord. The Silmarils belong only to thee. I am aware of that.’ 

Melkor’s grip on Sauron’s chin turned forceful. He squeezed the Maia’s face hard enough to hurt him. ‘Then why do you say we must look for the lost Silmaril?’ he hissed. ‘You have already given orders to find it without my permission, perhaps you desire to find it in secret and then keep it for yourself!’ 

Sauron steeled himself as his lord’s hold on him became unbearably painful. He fought back a grimace.

‘If I find that any of this is true, spirit, then I will strip you of all rank and cast you from Angband as a wandering spirit, devoid of any carnal body! You call yourself a shapeshifter but I can make it so that all your powers come to naught without the comfort of flesh to manipulate...’ 

Through gritted teeth, the Maia said, ‘Look into my eyes, Lord. Dost thou believe any such treasonous wishes to be true?’

Caught off guard, Melkor let go finally. He took a step back, eyes searching Sauron’s face for any hint of emotion. Sauron stayed impassable. 

Frustrated, Melkor shouted, ‘I can see your mind! I know what thoughts you have hidden there!’ 

Sauron knew that Melkor had long since lost the ability to read his thoughts as he once had. They both knew. Yet neither said nothing about it. 

Melkor glanced over to where his crown lay on the floor across the room. ‘The other Silmarils are over there, Sauron,’ he said. ‘Take them if you want.’ This was obviously a test of Sauron’s devotion, but the Maia did not know what goal his lord had by testing him in such a way.

‘No,’ Sauron said, holding back a sigh. ‘I will leave them where the Lord has left them.’ 

‘I offer them to you. Freely. Go ahead, just take them.’ Melkor had a look in his eyes like he was trying to tempt a creature with its deepest desire. But Sauron was no such creature. 

‘No, I will not.’ 

‘I mean it, they are yours. I will not even try to stop you! Take the Silmarils, Sauron.’

‘No.’ The Maia did not move in the slightest where he knelt.

The Vala paused. ‘Why do you still defy me?!’ he yelled. ‘Anyone else in Arda would take them if I offered the Silmarils like this!’ 

‘My lord, we both know that thou dost not truly offer thine most precious jewels to any living being. And I have already assured thee that I have no desire for them. So tell me instead, what wouldst thou have me do?’ 

Sauron was trying to convey that he was in no mood to be tested in such a way. His loyalty needed no more proof than he had already given. The only thing Sauron did want was for his lord to guide him and tell him what he wanted from his lieutenant. 

Melkor sighed. The energy and strength that had possessed him this entire time seemed to leave him in that one long breath. The candle flickered again and the flame died down almost to nothing. Something was about to happen, but Sauron knew not what.

‘I have removed the crown,’ the Vala began, ‘because I suddenly found their light unbearable.’ He turned and looked at his lieutenant. ‘Do you know, Sauron, what a burden that light is upon my physical body?’

This was the first time Melkor had revealed any of this. Sauron grew a little nervous.

‘No, my lord, of course not. Thou art the only one with the experience of wearing the Silmarils as a crown, so only thou knowest of such things.’ 

‘Well, you must never tell anyone what I am about to tell you! This conversation is private, just between us.’ The Vala drew a breath and continued. ‘The light of the Silmarils is both beautiful and painful. Do you know what happened to my hand?’ The Vala raised his right hand to show where it had been burned. Everyone in Angband had seen that burn mark, but none dared to ask where Melkor had gotten it. 

‘The Silmarils burned me when I first put my hand on them,’ the lord explained. ‘And they’ve been burning me ever since. That crown is my favorite and most coveted possession, but it is also cruel to me...’ Melkor put his face in his hands, seemingly at a loss to continue. 

Sauron became very confused. What worth did those jewels have if they were actually harmful? 

‘Why, my lord?’ Sauron demanded. He forgot himself and stood up. ‘Why wouldst thou continue to wear such things if they burn thine head every passing second?’

Melkor shot him a venomous glare. ‘You know nothing. Those jewels are all that I have. And now...’ The Vala swallowed hard. ‘...I don’t know...’

Sauron approached him slowly. ‘My lord...I do not know what thy words mean. All that thou hast? Certainly not. Look at all of Angband, all the creatures that thou has control over. The Silmarils are a centerpiece of thine glory, perhaps, but they are not the only display of thine power and grace. Thou art a Vala, the mightiest and loveliest of them all!’ 

The fire within Sauron started to kindle as he spoke. He was likely being way too rash, but suddenly the Maia found himself more passionate than he had intended, not even wanting but suddenly needing for Melkor to understand him.

‘The mightiest? And the loveliest?’ Melkor said, looking up slightly from his hands. ‘And do you still think me lovely to look upon, scarred as I am, with no crown upon my head?’

‘Yes, my lord. The loveliest, as I said.’ Sauron suddenly desired to embrace his lord where he stood. He had sometimes desired to do so in the past, selfishly out of love for his Vala, but now was the first time he felt that it was something Melkor really needed himself. Yet Sauron knew he would do nothing unless asked.

The problem solved itself when Melkor said, ‘Come here.’ 

Sauron walked over until they were face to face. Melkor smiled at him and said, ‘If you think me lovely, then show me.’ 

As he spoke, the Vala grabbed Sauron’s hand and brought it up to his own face. Sauron stroked his lord’s cheek, the first of any intimate contact between them, with Melkor’s hand guiding him.

‘So what is it, Sauron?’ Melkor’s voice became a low purr. ‘What would you do with me?’

The intention was clear. Honestly, Sauron knew nothing about physical love. However the purr in his lord’s voice and the Maia’s own desire to give Melkor what he needed made all his lack of experience irrelevant. Sauron smiled back at the Vala and ran his fingers through some of Melkor’s straight black hair.

‘I will do anything that I am asked, same as always,’ Sauron said, lowering his own voice. ‘Tell me, what wouldst thou have me do?’

Melkor took Sauron’s other hand and put it on his chest. No more words passed between them for a while as Melkor guided his lieutenant to explore his body. Sauron watched as his hands moved across his lord’s chest and sides, feeling the thin body beneath the robe. He could feel ribs and bones in that body and marveled that such a frail form could house such a powerful spirit as his lord’s. 

As Melkor led Sauron’s hands lower, to his thighs and legs, the Vala let his control weaken. He wanted to see where Sauron would touch him on his own. Naturally, the Maia sensed this and moved his hands away from his lords’. He reached behind the frail body before him and gently cupped Melkor’s backside. 

It was unexpected. Melkor sighed at the feeling and reached out his own hands to grasp onto Sauron’s shoulders. The Vala’s scarred face seemed alive now with a new quality. Sauron could only define that look as lustful. In turn, that look awoke something in the Maia. Suddenly he found himself burning with a desire to touch and to be touched, something his spirit had never wholly felt before. The fire in his eyes throbbed and grew larger until the flames lapped outward against the side of his face. The physical body Sauron kept was responding as well. He felt his skin longing for contact, wanting that same cool touch of his lord’s hands.

Feeling the intensity rise between them, Sauron gripped Melkor’s backside more tightly. He squeezed it now and massaged, feeling the flesh there give way beneath his hands. Melkor let out a moan, but then quickly closed his mouth as if to deny how pleasurable that felt. It aroused Sauron further to realize he could control his master this way.

Melkor dropped his head and until his forehead rested against Sauron’s muscular shoulder. ‘Do you know...?’ the Vala whispered against him. ‘Do you know what it is like to be confined in this physical body?’ 

Sauron had long since suspected that his lord was no longer able to change his form as he had in the past. This fact had become obvious after a time. Hearing his lord admit to it, though, was another matter. Sauron felt his own spirit fray in angst as he realized the pitiful existence Melkor suffered. 

Somehow that angst increased his desire though, so Sauron slid his hands along Melkor’s waist and ran his palms down his lord’s inner thighs. Melkor’s breath caught for a moment. He fisted the fabric against Sauron’s shoulders. The Maia noticed that the Vala was trembling.

‘It is...’ Melkor said through ragged breaths. ‘...I have desires...desires that I cannot satisfy on my own. ...Do you understand, Sauron?’ 

As he asked, Melkor turned his face to look up at Sauron, keeping his head pressed against his lieutenant’s shoulder. The sight would have been pathetic to any other creature. But to Sauron, seeing his lord that way, suddenly vulnerable and imploring, only filled the Maia with love. That love welling up within him mingled with his lust and Sauron felt himself caught in an almost animalistic urge to take Melkor completely right then and there.

‘I understand, my lord,’ Sauron said quietly. ‘Let me satisfy all that thou desires...’ His hand met the member between Melkor’s legs. It was hard and Sauron found the feel of it against his hand very satisfying. 

Melkor let out a long moan and threw his head back. The Vala ground his hips against Sauron’s touch, trying to increase the pace. Sauron stroked his lord slowly. He wanted to drag each moment out as long as possible. In contrast, Melkor was desperate for more. After a few minutes of Sauron’s drawn out touching, the Vala screamed in frustration and broke away. He tore the robe off his body to stand completely naked. Then he ripped the armor off Sauron’s body and pulled away the clothes beneath. Sauron let his lord do as he wished. Soon he was as naked as Melkor and they stood before each other, staring at bodies that had long been hidden from the other. 

Thick scars ran up and down Melkor’s slight frame. The paleness of his skin burned in comparison to the hideous sight of those marks, making Melkor’s body look thoroughly ruined. Yet Sauron found the sight beautiful. This body in front of him was truly his lord, in all his glory and suffering.

Melkor caught Sauron’s gaze and looked down at himself. Seeing the scars, Melkor’s face suddenly fell. He reached out to grab his robe, as if in an effort to cover himself again, but Sauron grabbed the Vala’s hands. When their eyes met, Sauron shook his head. The gesture was enough. Melkor realized his lieutenant’s true feelings. Smiling again, he pressed up against Sauron’s body. 

The Vala’s pelvis found Sauron’s hip and Melkor began to grind against him. As Melkor moved, Sauron lay kisses against his lord’s hands, reveling at the feel of cool skin against his lips. He could have kissed those hands indefinitely, letting his lord take whatever pleasure he could from his body, appreciating the codependence of the situation. But Melkor pulled his hands away after a time and grabbed Sauron’s hips. Sauron watched his lord lay eyes upon the Maia’s hard length. Sauron liked how obvious his arousal was, he wanted Melkor to see it and know that it was all because of him. 

Melkor reached out a hand hesitantly, letting a light touch ghost along Sauron’s taut flesh. From that sensation alone, Sauron felt pleasure run through his entire form, until the fire of his spirit threatened to explode outward. The Maia growled low in his throat, trying to fight against the urge to release. It pleased Melkor to watch his lieutenant keen in such a way. He smiled again and gripped Sauron’s member firmly. 

‘I would know what it is,’ Melkor began, ‘to feel your strength inside me, satisfying me...’ 

Sauron had closed his eyes against the pleasure building within him, but now he opened them to face his lord fully. ‘I am more than willing,’ he said. 

Making the decision for both of them, Sauron broke away from Melkor and sat on the floor beside him. He gestured to his lap, where his hard length stood at attention between his legs. 

‘Look at how I have become ready for thee, Lord Melkor,’ Sauron said invitingly. ‘Come and sit.’

Melkor looked surprised but eager. He climbed into Sauron’s lap and brought their erections together. Such an intimate touch sent them both reeling. Before they lost themselves to the sensation, Sauron placed a hand on the small of Melkor’s back. He dipped one finger downward, waiting for permission before moving any further. 

‘Yes, Sauron,’ Melkor whispered, closing his eyes in anticipation. ‘Do that.’ 

So Sauron stroked his lord’s entrance, completely enthralled at the fact that such a privilege had been granted to him and thoroughly aroused by the implications. Melkor shivered as he was breached, but soon the touch was not enough and he pulled Sauron’s hand away. He shifted his hips to position himself directly above Sauron’s length. 

They looked at each other again. Sauron did not know what expression he should have, so he let his face do whatever it would. The fire in his eyes whipped around aimlessly, showing that the spirit’s excitement was barely under control. Melkor smiled, looking honestly happy to see his servant so eager. It was a rare thing for Melkor to seem genuinely happy.

Then Melkor slowly lowered himself and let Sauron enter him. 

They both paused for a moment, focusing only on the pure bliss of joining with each other for the first time. For Sauron, he felt a kind of spiritual satisfaction to be connected to his lord this way. It felt so right. He wanted Melkor to have control over the act, so he let his lord ride him until they were both crying out in pleasure.

The two Ainur moved against each other in the darkness of that room, deep within Angband, isolated from the rest of the world. Melkor kept an unyielding pace, moving faster and faster until Sauron could not keep himself contained. They reached climax quickly, almost unprepared for the force of that mutual sensation, which caused a kind of earthquake to rumble outward from Thangorodrim. 

When it was over, Melkor collapsed against Sauron’s chest in a haze. For his part, Sauron wrapped his arms around Melkor without thinking. He felt like a piece of his spirit had left him and gone inside Melkor to dwell for the rest of time. It was a confusing sensation, and Sauron needed time to think about what had transpired between him and his lord.

Comfortable in that embrace, Melkor was the first to speak. ‘I think we have broken some kind of Ainur law, joining like this.’ 

 ‘Shall I add it to the list?’ Sauron said.  

‘What list is this that you are keeping, Sauron, to enumerate our crimes against the Valar?’ Melkor was honestly upset, but Sauron only chuckled.

‘It was a jest, my lord. There is no such list.’  

‘I have never known you to be the jesting type, spirit...’ It was true. That was probably the first even slight joke Sauron had ever made. 

‘Understandably,’ Sauron said, a smile still on his lips. He looked down at his lord with an expression of nothing but love. Melkor looked to the side, as if shying away from the intensity of the Maia’s expression. That, too, was unheard of between them. 

Such was the state the Ainur were in after their lovemaking. A brief moment passed, then Melkor fell unconscious with a look of intense satisfaction upon his face. Sauron pulled out of his lord and let him sleep. It seemed fitting that Melkor’s physical body would require sleep, such was the state of it, and so Sauron vowed to remain by his side until that need was filled as well.

Watching himself and his lord rest peacefully side by side, the long memory finally dissolved. It was just as well. He preferred not to see their parting after that, anyway.

_____________________________________________________________________

Here in Udûn, dawn was breaking again. Sauron opened his eyes, now completely disoriented, almost expecting to see Melkor’s satisfied face before him. Of course that was not the case. 

Instead Sauron found his real body to be caught in a state of neglected arousal, painfully hard between his legs. He touched that hardness sadly, trying to imagine that it was Melkor who ran his hand over that aching spot. 

Suddenly an intense emotion rose to the surface and Sauron cried out. It was no use. This was not Melkor’s touch that he remembered so vividly. It was not the same and it would not work. The disappointed Maia felt like weeping for the first time in his existence. Nothing would ever fill that need in him again.

And yet, that time after the loss of the Silmaril was the only occasion they had ever made love. After that, Melkor had resumed his usual air, wearing the crown indeed as it was with only two jewels and a glaring hole. He never again mentioned either the missing Silmaril or the fact that he and Sauron had been together so intimately. Their relationship had resumed its usual dynamic from that point on. Only a handful of times since then did Sauron catch a sideways glance in his direction from Melkor or a longing expression on the Vala’s face when he looked upon his lieutenant and thought no one else could see. Sometimes silence hung in the air between them, as if words were not needed or would have seemed awkward. Only Gothmog ever caught on to the fact that something had passed between the two, but he never said anything about it either.

Sauron had been trapped in a world of silence, where his feelings for his lord were never addressed. He was certain that Melkor felt the same way, but there was something in the way to cause him to act like that. Sauron would never force the issue because of his nature, and indeed he never did. Or maybe the appropriate moment to talk had simply never come up.

Whatever the reason, that was the first and last time Melkor and Sauron were together like lovers and remembering it now brought a new kind of pain to the lonely Maia. He desired to rejoin with his lord more than ever. 

Now, at last, Sauron dropped the golden ball of earth from his hand and moved away. That was more than enough of a journey into the recesses of his memory. He had wasted too much time already. 

Yavanna, that deceitful enchantress...perhaps this was her plan all along. Get him addicted to the wistful memories of his past and not nearly as focused as he should be on the present. Maybe she could even use her “gift” as a kind of seeing stone, looking into his own mind every time he used it. So devious! He would not put it passed her. 

Actually...that was a rather useful power if it was possible. Maybe there was a way for him to accomplish such a thing...see into the minds of his enemies. But what enemies did he have at the moment? The Valar? That would not work.

But such power...even the idea of a power that could see into the thoughts of others would be enough to entice the likes of men, perhaps even the Firstborn. If he needed a way to get others in alliance with him, all he had to do was flaunt this power to others and let them be drawn to him, following his orders of their own desire.

It was a workable strategy. But how could he create a device, and what device would it be, that could bend others to his will? The power would have to be dependent on the user and perhaps it would need to be used only at certain times. So, a wearable device then. But not a crown, like Melkor’s, that clouded the sight and sat too uneasily upon the head. No, something wearable that could be removed and put back on at will, infused with an enchantment of sorcery to give unimaginable power to the wearer.

Perhaps...a ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. Just want to point out, all that stuff with Ancalagon at the beginning is relevant and will be brought up in future chapters. Sorry if it seemed kind of out of nowhere! Honestly, I just love the idea of Sauron and Ancalagon being friends. I also love Ancalagon as a concept, wish there was more of him out there. This is one possible version of him, a wise (kind of weird) sage dragon haha. 
> 
> Hope you liked the Angbang! ;) Next chapters will bring the story (and maybe some characters) to a climax.


	7. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron must make a decision about what he will do with his power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flow of this chapter moves quickly through a lot of years. I was trying to tell the complete story of what happens during most of the Second Age without going into too much details about things we already know. Sorry if it seems a little disjointed. Hope you like!

Chapter Seven: Decisions

Sauron had made up his mind. He would create a device that could bestow unimaginable power onto him and sway the hearts and minds of others into his service. But he knew, obviously, that such a glorious creation was a long way from being born. First, he needed to gather resources to himself and establish countenance among the beings of this world. 

So, finally, he departed from the hidden reaches of Udûn and journeyed into the plateaus below it. These plateaus expanded far across the east, nestled comfortably behind the Ered Dúath, the Mountains of Shadow, and the Ered Lithui, the Ash Mountains. Sauron liked the feel of these new names on his tongue. Such shadow and ash would serve well as his new domain. Besides, very few creatures ever ventured beyond the mountains, aptly referring to this whole realm as the Land of Shadow. Sauron did notice that the shadows grew longer here, as if the earth had settled in such a way that the sun never quite touched upon all of it at once. 

The only creatures Sauron did come across on the Plateau of Gorgoroth were, not surprisingly, orcs. He found a couple of these familiar creatures, previously low ranking hunters by the look of them, taking shelter behind a lone mountain the stood noticeably apart from either chain. That mountain seemed to be on its own in the middle of the flatlands. Quite unusual. 

The orcs had set up some kind of encampment against the base. They were talking quietly among themselves when Sauron approached. Ironically, they did not even seem to recognize him. The Maia offered them both rank and loyal servants should they follow his orders, but the orcs were completely uninterested.

“Call me captain if you want, or hunter, or even king of the mountain, I don’t care,” one of them said, daring to gnash its teeth in Sauron’s direction. “Doesn’t do me any good to be called much of anything out here in the middle of nowhere with nothing by ash in my stomach!” 

The other orc nodded its head in agreement, but he eyed Sauron suspiciously. “We spent maybe five years in the dark army,” he said. “I was barely more than a _snaga_ then. Now this is what I do, I wander these mountains in fear, waiting for one of those wild men from Rhûn to come down here and chop my head off.”

“Or worse even, those elves...” said the other, sitting down complacently and poking his ashy food with disgust. “Golden haired freaks, I tell you what. Give me one of those sparkly bastards from Lindon and I’ll fight to my last, on whatevers left of my honor.”

Sauron was beginning to tell the state of things. Eventually, he was able to get the orcs to trust him by giving them a new blade to hunt for food. From them, he learned much of the goings-on of Middle-earth, what legions of elves had settled and what their origins were. This new age held many rivalries, he realized, among races that bore the same grudges of the past. That could be useful.

The orcs had a reason for choosing that mountain for shelter. The sides of the mountain were hot to the touch, but the grounds around it were comfortably warm, making it the only thing even remotely habitable (indeed, almost luxurious) in the dry, lifeless terrain of Gorgoroth. There was a strange but familiar energy about the mountain, as well, something Sauron recognized as not of the light. Mysterious rumblings echoed from the mouth of the cave towards its peak. Naturally, Sauron ventured inside.

The core of the mountain was like a forge, dark and hot, bubbling over with bursts of black smoke. Sauron reveled in the scent of sulfur and brimstone. He inhaled it deeply and looked with pleasure at the pool of lava beneath him. 

Yes...finally. Here he could make himself useful again at last, getting to work on his new creations. Beyond that, the lava pitched and swirled with such energy...it was like looking at Melkor’s first rendering of the volcano all those years ago. Here was evidence of his lord’s handiwork, alive and well, ready to be used for any purpose he could devise. Excitement coursed through his form, coming from deep inside him where the arousal from before had not yet fully subsided. He had a sudden urge to merge with this molten magma and fill it with his essence, as an outlet for his pent up desire.

And so he did. The fire of that mountain yielded to his spirit and he flowed through it with vicious force, claiming all that he could find for himself. Relief flooded him as he moved, feeling only slightly (perhaps mostly in his mind) a little piece of Melkor that had lingered in that lava since its creation. Merging with the magma, Sauron established a connection with the Mountain of Fire so that it could create metalworks of a dark quality. That suited well enough.

Once that was done, Sauron revealed his true nature as a Maia to the orcs near the mountain. Before their eyes, he transformed from his old, familiar body into a new, more brilliant form. He appeared as an Eldar, but in a way more perfect and wise, with a voice that penetrated the souls of others and beguiled them to trust him. The orcs had never seen a shapeshifter before and when they saw this form that could bring the elves to shame, they decided almost immediately to follow him. Sauron commanded them to gather all the orcs they could and build a small army in Mordor, hidden among the mountains. 

A fair number of orcs convened in Mordor after a time. They were of many different breeds, which made communication among them almost impossible. So Sauron taught them all a language of his own devising. He had crafted this tongue while thinking about Valarin, the ancient language used among the Ainur. He put together sounds and syllables that were the most conducive to sorcery. Each sentence uttered in this language was like a spell of its own. The words bore with them inherent ability, bearing some of the Ainur’s power mingled with some of Sauron’s own. The language would be called Black Speech, or the Dark Tongue of Mordor.

Leaving behind a modest fortress, Sauron left Mordor and ventured westward. His first encounters were with men, whom Sauron found almost unbearably easy to persuade. Some men he encouraged to join his forces in the east, but some he was simply content to let do as they would. Men, he realized, were more than capable of bringing about hardships out of their own greed and corruptibility. He focused most of his energy on the elves; they were much harder to persuade. Their kingdoms scattered around Middle-earth held the most sway over the lands. He had heard of the wisdom and strength of the elves in Lindon and Eregion so he made those realms his two targets. 

Sauron walked among Middle-earth using the name Annatar, Lord of Gifts. His fair form, long black hair with pale skin and green eyes, perfectly aligned features, made him presentable to elf lords which was a rarity for strangers. He did not refer to himself as Sauron, for obvious reasons, and he did not speak about his origins. None ever asked. Instead, Annatar gave the elves things that they could not easily attain elsewhere. He was very perceptive in these matters and could discern whatever thing an elf lord needed to satisfy an urgent, or sometimes private, desire. Annatar offered creations he had forged in the Mountain of Fire, things beautiful and often strange that the elves could not help but marvel at, believing each creation to bear some of the mystical quality about Annatar himself. He also gave advice where it was needed, soothing lordly woes about decisions that effected many of the kingdoms. Very quickly, Annatar became known as something of a wizard and he was loved by almost all who knew of him. But he was feared as well and mistrusted by those who saw danger in his practices.

Eregion was where Annatar finally found a useful counterpart. He had learned of the beauty of Ost-in-Edhil, how the blacksmiths there rivaled all others of that time and how Celebrimbor son of Curufin reigned in wealth and pride. Annatar arranged a meeting with this Lord Celebrimbor, ruler of Eregion. Celebrimbor was not high king of the Noldor, that right belonged to Gil-galad, but elves in Eregion looked upon the grandson of Fëanor as a king of sorts among them, mostly because of his direct relaction to Fëanor himself. After the departing of Galadriel and Celeborn, Celebrimbor had been left with sole responsibility of that powerful realm. Such confusion of titles caused some dissent among the Noldor, and it did not sit well with Celebrimbor himself who was in all actuality a prince.

Golden-brown hair with a muscular build, Celebrimbor greeted Annatar from his throne. The palace of Eregion was so adorned in splendor Sauron could barely stifle a laugh. If these elves put that much importance on riches, then tempting them with more power would be far too easy. 

Indeed, that turned out to be true. Celebrimbor had fallen under Annatar’s spell from the first time they met, even as he sat upon his own throne. Annatar was a dark figure, ebony haired and clothed in a dark red robe, but he was still appealing in a curious way. He contrasted with the pearly white finish of the palace and throne room, indeed with the whole essence of heavenly Eregion. But seeing that contrast, alluring darkness against a backdrop of white, intrigued Celebrimbor even despite himself and the fact that he had previously had a mind to turn Annatar away.

“What brings the Lord of Gifts before me on this day?” Celebrimbor asked with a comfortable and royal air. “Your reputation precedes you, naturally. I’m afraid we have no need of gifts, however strange and wonderful they might be. Eregion is a land now at its finest.” 

Sauron held back a smirk. A lord with no desires? That would be a first.

Head bowed low, the wizard said, “Lord of Eregion, I do not presume to know your kingdom better than yourself. I have been in this land only a short time and already I see its splendor far surpasses any other I have come across. What further need could your kingdom have, with its bounty already overflowing?” He paused for a moment and flicked his eyes upward to look at Celebrimbor. The lord seemed young all of a sudden, some of that well-honed elvish maturity falling away unconsciously.

Annatar looked down again and continued. “No, I am here today for selfish reasons. I wish to see the forges of Ost-in-Edhil I have heard so much about. Your lordship may or may not know this, but I am a blacksmith myself. Only an amateur, of course, but I have some innate skill. It was my hope in coming to Eregion that I could learn from the smiths here. It is my understanding that they are true masters of the craft. Might they teach me how to build upon my talent?” 

Celebrimbor shifted in his seat. It was a reasonable request, but something about that statement seemed out of place. “Why come all the way to Eregion just to learn smithing? Certainly there are blacksmiths throughout Middle-earth looking for apprentices. To my knowledge, all of mine are too busy with their own work to take on any students.”

“As I said, Lord, I have heard much about the high quality and skill of your smiths. If none will have me as a student, then I am content just to glimpse at their workings, so that I may have some idea what it means to be a true blacksmith.”

“I cannot simply show you my forges.” Celebrimbor was getting uncomfortable. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he said yes to this wizard. The lord was powerless to stop it and he knew not why. “That would be unwise, don’t you think? Letting any who enter here see the inner workings of my forges where many of our armories are made... Many kings would call that foolish.”

“Perhaps many would, Lord,” Annatar lifted his head to stare fully at Celebrimbor. “But what does _this_ king say? What do you think is foolish?”

Celebrimbor stopped for a moment. The green eyes of the wizard seemed to flash as he posed the question, a presumptuous one at that. Yet even as he reeled, the lord could not help the thoughts entering his mind as he looked upon this man. It was as if Annatar tempted him with something, but he did not know what it was. Seeing those attractive, dauntless, emerald eyes staring back at him coolly, Celebrimbor began to have his own idea of a request he could ask of this so-called gift giver...

Well, anyway, there probably was no harm in letting him into the forges. Just to be safe, Celebrimbor would accompany him down there and keep an eye on him. For...security purposes.

So the two of them, and some guards, went down to the forges beneath the palace. Here were many elves at work, creating armories and other such devices that it seemed Eregion might have no immediately need for in such a time of peace. Sauron was surprised to see dwarves also working down there alongside the elves. When he pointed this out, Celebrimbor explained that there had long been an alliance between the dwarves of Khazad-dûm and the elves here. He said that they created finer works together than they ever could create separately. 

Celebrimbor has good insight, thought Sauron, much better than many of his kind. However, that would come to naught. None were above the desire of further power, especially those who already had some power of their own. 

So it was that Annatar approached the smiths, even while they worked, and proposed the idea of making adornments for their kith and kin. Adornments, he explained, that could bestow upon the wearer great abilities. He gave them his litany of ideas, explaining casually how the notion had come to him suddenly one day and for no reason other than looking out to the west. The west, he said, reminded him of the beauty in the world and how that beauty could be dispersed to Middle-earth as well. 

“The beauty of these lands pales in comparison that of Valinor,” Annatar said. “And rightfully so. But why not bestow upon ourselves a piece of that righteous glory so that we can better Middle-earth with our own arts?”

Several of those in attendance that day agreed with Annatar, some still feeling the indignant sting of having been denied passage into Valinor and some merely seeing the wealth of possibilities behind what the wizard offered. Celebrimbor immediately felt distrust when he heard Annatar’s words, believing there was a divine reason for the glory of Valinor and that it was perhaps blasphemous to want to emulate that glory. And yet, when Annatar stared back at him, waiting for the lord's agreement, Celebrimbor found that he could say nothing in retort. 

The lord lowered his gaze for a moment and tried to think. Suddenly, Annatar was in front of him, lifting Celebrimbor’s face with one graceful hand. The wizard let his hand linger on that royal chin for a little longer than was appropriate, trapping the lord with those enticing green eyes. Finally, Annatar asked quietly, “And what does the king command?”  

Celebrimbor held that gaze without choice, eventually conceding the fact that he could not look away even if he tried. “I say,” he began slowly, tongue feeling as if it was weighed down by something. “...perhaps we need a demonstration, Annatar. Can you not show us what you mean by making us one of these rings of power?”

Everyone seemed to agree with that. So, Annatar spent the following months, almost a year, working on creating a ring that could bestow translucence (not quite full invisibility yet) upon the wearer. When he was finished, the ring glowed silver and sparkled with a bright pearl atop its band as splendid as the moon. Celebrimbor fell in love with this ring the second Annatar presented it to him.

“With this ring,” the wizard said. “You will be like moonlight itself, shimmering softly against the walls of your kingdom, going where others would prohibit you to go, in places that are perhaps not as lordly as your position demands.” Annatar smiled. “I know who you are, a prince sacrificed to responsibilities beyond his years. This ring is a promise of freedom.” 

Speechless, Celebrimbor did nothing as Annatar slipped the silver ring onto his finger. The feeling that possessed the king at that moment, like being filled with a blinding radiance making him shine like a star, then to recognize the fact of being almost invisible...it was more than enough. 

Celebrimbor took the ring off and stared back at Annatar, seeing only that pale face that pervaded his dreams and even waking thoughts. He knew he had been bought, but the knowledge was not as unpleasant as he had expected.

“It is as you say, wizard...” the lord said. “Beauty to rival the moon itself.” 

“And more,” Annatar said. “Even more things will I show you, if you help me.” 

Thus began the partnership between Annatar Lord of Gifts and Celebrimbor Lord of Eregion. Together they made nine and seven rings, but many others did the smiths of Ost-in-Edhil make. All of them were infused with a binding power that filled the wearer’s mind with nonsense words at times, or so they thought. These words were of course Black Speech, but that language was not yet known outside Mordor. A time of great prosperity soon followed for the kingdom of Eregion and the dwarves that were in allegiance. 

But Sauron was far from finished. 

Of the rings made between him and Celebrimbor, Annatar gave seven to the dwarves. The kings of this race were eager to get their hands on such powers, and the beauty in each ring was not lost on those treasure-hungry eyes either. Nine he gave to various kings of men, who offered no resistance to him out of their own nature. 

Then Sauron began working on his own ring, one to harness the power of all the others. He worked ceaselessly in the fires of his mountain, bending golden metal to his will using ancient Valarin and finally settling on enchantments in his own tongue. When the ring was still in its liquid form, a small puddle of gold laying atop magma, Sauron used a spell on it that would mix his own energy with that of the ring. He knew that the only thing stronger than the elves was his power as a Maia, so he had no other choice. 

When his essence touched the gold, Sauron felt part of his spirit leaving his body. Before he could do anything, Sauron lost control of his form and became again a spirit of naked flame. He felt the fire of his spirit coiling around the gold until he became a complete circle. In turn, the gold melded into the same shape. As the circle formed, Sauron heard words echoing throughout the mountain, but he was not sure if he was speaking them aloud or if they resounded only in his own mind. 

_Ash nazg durbatulûk..._

The sound was deafening. Sauron saw the ring completed in his mind’s eye and suddenly he was wearing flesh again, a cool piece of metal nestled calmly in his palm. Staring at the ring closely, Sauron saw words of his own devising written in flame across the band. The gold itself hummed with a spiritual energy that had come from within him. It was like seeing a reflection of himself, a mirror of sorts, but infused with such power...Sauron was acutely aware that the ring could probably do things even he did not know. Especially if he wore this ring...what unimaginable things could he do then?

So he put it on. A feeling of unique wholeness came upon him and Sauron knew that he had done something amazing. He felt a searing power that made his skin and soul light up with excitement. The thoughts of all those wearing other rings of power became suddenly his own thoughts and he knew intimately the minds of the elves, dwarves, and men under his sway. 

Celebrimbor knew instantly that Annatar had done something terrible. The energy about the wizard was different somehow, as if he was drenched in liquid and able to move more fluidly. Celebrimbor felt dark power radiating off his friend. It set him ill at ease.

“What have you done, Annatar?” Celebrimbor confronted the man seriously when next Annatar entered his kingdom. “The ring that you gave me now burns my mind with such thoughts...” The elf lord seemed not to have rested in days. His face and body were haggard and very rattled.

“I gave you what you desired, did I not?” responded Annatar, completely indifferent. “Your ring has given you what you wanted above all. And now I have made my own ring, one that grants me such things as I have long desired.” 

With a smile, Annatar revealed the one ring to Celebrimbor. He was not wearing it, not yet, but the mere sight of it caused the elf king to recoil.

“Such a dark force...what good will ever come of this thing you have made, Annatar? How could you do this?” Celebrimbor began to weep, without even realizing he was doing so, as the truth of Annatar’s nature suddenly occurred to him. 

“You...” the prince stuttered. “...you would see us all burn, wouldn’t you?” 

Annatar’s smile did not falter. “Burn if you want, Celebrimbor Lord of Eregion. Die if you must. It matters not to me, for I finally have what I need.” 

Without any more words, Sauron’s green eyes slowly dissolved into their natural fiery state. Celebrimbor watched in horror as those beautiful eyes he had been so enamored with transformed hideously into balls of pure flame. His love and respect for Annatar burned itself up in that moment and he was filled only with fear and hatred, feeling betrayed beyond any decency. 

Sauron let Celebrimbor feel everything, knowing that the elf’s spirit had been broken. Then he brought his face as close as possible against Celebrimbor’s. The fire of his eyes eclipsed everything in the lord's sight. Out of that fire, Sauron spoke words directly into Celebrimbor’s mind, telling him the whole truth about what he really was, telling him of Melkor and of his undying allegiance to the enemy and all creatures of the dark.

When the force of breaking into the elf’s mind became too great, and Celebrimbor felt as if his mind might shatter, Sauron released him so he could slip on the ring. The Maia became completely invisible. He was gone.

Utterly alone, memories of an all-consuming fire causing him to tremble, Celebrimbor collapsed on the floor and wept for all he had done.

______________________________________________________________________

Back in the Mountain of Fire, Sauron contemplated his next move. The army he had gathered in Mordor was strong enough now for an assault upon Eregion if he so desired. Possibly the elves might attack him first after his dramatic revelation to Celebrimbor. If there was to be war, it was smarter to have the upper hand and move in quickly...

But what then? Conquer Eregion and then, what, move onto Lindon to confront Gil-galad and the rest? Sauron fingered the band of the one ring as he thought. Gil-galad and Elrond, those elves were relics of the past who lived as lords in this new age. He could defeat them easily with this ring by his side.

Suddenly Sauron remembered the words of Ancalagon spoken to him all those years ago, fresh in his memory from time spent revisiting the past. Ancalagon knew him well. It was true, as a Maia and lieutenant, Sauron had been content but there was always that vision left over in his mind ever since he had joined Melkor’s forces. A world of order that was completely submissive to one god. Ancalagon had awoken in Sauron the desire to be that god and now, with this ring, it might actually be possible.

He closed his fist around the ring in his palm. Images of a possible future flooded his mind. In Mordor, a huge tower built behind the mountains...at the very top, Sauron would reign in fiery glory, instilling a nameless fear into the hearts of all creatures in Middle-earth. None would dare speak his name, referring to him only as the Dark Lord. And his power would be great...greater than any Eldar or Maia that dared to cross him. Even the Númenorians could not stop his might. Those elf-man hybrids who must long insatiably for immortality. Their own greed would eventually cause their downfall, Sauron could see to that.

A mighty tower with him as the reigning master...all creatures of darkness subservient to him as they had been to Melkor. When the world was conquered, Sauron could make his vision a reality by creating order among all races who let such pitiful rivalries create rifts between them. All those meaningless problems would disappear. The only language spoken would be Black Speech. And all would bow before the beauty and might of that one ring, his precious creation...

_Ash nazg gimbatul..._

Sauron opened his eyes and looked at his closed fist surrounding the ring. Slowly, the vision of the tower in his head began to fade.

Was that truly what he wanted? 

The Maia sighed and opened his hand, letting the gold of the ring shine undaunted in his sight. There was more than one possible future with this in his possession. He remembered the reason why he had even conceived of creating such rings of power...

The voids. Sauron tore his eyes away from the ring and looked up. He did not see the sky, of course, being in the forge, but he knew what lay beyond. Melkor was still trapped beyond the Door of Night. Was he to abandon his lord now, when he had in his hand a weapon of ultimate might? No, he could not, certainly...but then, what of Sauron’s own vision? Could he abandon that and let go of all hope of a future where he was the one true master of Middle-earth?

“Ancalagon...” Sauron said to the ring and fire around him, his only companions. “You believed that I desired more than my station. But that was not always true...” The Maia remembered a time when he was still in Aulë’s service. Back then, Mairon had worked tirelessly to create useful things for the world, bearing in mind only the desire to make Arda more efficient. Efficiency was in his nature, it always had been. Before time had even begun, there was only the Music. Then he had sung songs to harmonize and beautify the music of the other Ainur, creating melodies that others would not think possible until they experienced his unique harmony for themselves. Melkor’s music had been chaotic. Mairon always found it difficult to harmonize with him, but when they did, when their songs combined to form a single congruous piece, well then it was the most glorious thing his spirit could ever remember creating. When Mairon discovered Melkor’s works as a Vala in Arda and he realized that their alliance in the physical world would be just as glorious.

Thinking of the Music now, Sauron held the ring up between his fingers. Nothing could rival the beauty of the music he had made together with Melkor, not even this ring. He did so love this ring, it was indeed precious to him beyond words, but then he realized what he must do with it. 

This ring was created for a purpose and at last Sauron knew what that was. 

He slid the ring onto his finger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas another cliffhanger!
> 
> So, I wanted to put in all that stuff with Celebrimbor and Annatar because I feel like their dynamic is an important part to the story of the one ring and the one ring is really important to this story, so there it is. But, there are definitely a lot of other much better written fics out there about those two, so go ahead and check those out (and try not to hate me too much haha).
> 
> Not that many chapters left! Getting ready for the long haul.


	8. One Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ring's purpose is made known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally this chapter is ready! I wanted to put the complete "one ring poem" here for reference, because it comes up a lot in the previous chapter and in this one, so I thought it would be helpful to have the whole thing with the translation (even though we all know it already): 
> 
> Ash nazg durbatulûk  
> Ash nazg gimbatul  
> Ash nazg thrakatulûk  
> agh burzum-ishi krimpatul  
> =  
> One ring to rule them all  
> One ring to find them  
> One ring to bring them all  
> and in the darkness bind them
> 
> There it is. Also, as a warning, this is where most of the canon divergence comes in. Enjoy!

Chapter Eight - One Ring

Indescribable power filled Sauron as soon as he put on the ring. The surging energy he had come to know well ever since this ring’s creation filled him to the brim and he knew without a doubt that he was invincible as long as he wore this small piece of gold.

Invincibility was exactly what he needed to face the foe that awaited him at the Door.

Sauron had already decided. The only purpose for this ring was to help him save his master from beyond the Door of Night, in whatever way possible. Failure in this meant that his ring would be destroyed or taken, which Sauron was fairly certain would mean destruction in some way of his own being, such was the connection between his spirit and the ring itself. He put all of his remaining faith in the ring. This would be his final attempt to defeat that enigmatic, monstrous creature standing guard by the Door. From there, he would enter the voids and...whatever was left after that remained to be seen. With this ring in his possession, Sauron feared not even the voids themselves and that terrifying black energy he remembered from his last encounter.

Bearing in mind the image of that indestructible Vanyar-like creature, who’s true name or race he did not know, Sauron chose to take a form as he had never taken before. The shape of this form appeared to him, he thought, only because of his joining with the ring. This form, he decided, was born from the ring’s indefinable might itself. It was high time anyway for the shapeshifting Maia to test the limits of his ability and create a body that was not conceivable for this realm.

Sauron’s neck stretched out and his face transformed into a particularly Balrog-like skull, complete with fire and smoke in all the usual places. His arms elongated as well and multiplied until he had nine snake-like appendages branching off of him, each with a clawed hand on the end. His lower half stood upon two thick, tree-trunk-like legs, faintly reminiscent of a wolf’s, rippling with muscles and bereft even of skin to hide the bare sinews. Ultimately, his from was inspired by snake, Balrog, wolf, and vampire, as he completed the nightmarish picture with two giant bat-like wings sprouting from his back.

Armed with such a hideous and powerful body, Sauron spread his wings proudly. He dug the claws on his feet into the ground for a moment, steeling himself and readying his newly created form for potential battle. Then, he left the Mountain of Fire and took to the skies without so much as a glance downward to Middle-earth. The lands of this new age rapidly shrank below him in his wake.

He climbed ever upward, remembering the route the eagle had taken all those years ago. As he passed above the clouds and into the lingering nothingness beyond, Sauron felt nothing but fierce determination. Sauron could still feel the pulsating power of the ring on his finger. He focused on that power and on the thought of facing the creature who had so humiliated him last time. He thought of Melkor also, of course, but he dared not think too much, because too much thought would lead to questions about what the dark lord’s fate had become after being cast into the voids. It had seemed so terrible at the time, that fate, to be cast into the corrupting blackness... Well, that question would be answered in due time, he reasoned, if it was to be answered at all.

The darkness around him thickened. Finally, Sauron caught sight of small black tendrils extending into the nothingness. He recognized them instantly as blackness that could only emanate from the Door. Sauron followed the path laid out by those tendrils, gliding swiftly on his giant wings. The tendrils grew larger and larger, crossing paths until they created a huge web leading directly to the Door.

For a moment, Sauron allowed himself to do nothing but take in the sight. The Door of Night was just as he remembered it; the mysterious energy he felt surrounding it had not changed in the slightest. The ring, it seemed, was unaffected by the weird black energy though and it continued to throb around his finger as ever before. This gave him hope, a strange, incongruous emotion to have in a place like this. Letting that emotion guide him, Sauron felt the power of the ring flowing through him like blood flowing through a mortal body. He felt suddenly so engorged with might that he reared his Balrog head back and roared into the darkness.

He had made such a monstrous sound on impulse, but soon he realized that it was also a decent call of challenge to the guardian, who must have surely heard the sound. Sauron was confident that he was menacing enough now to inspire fear even in the guardian, who would remember only the weak Balrog from last time, and not this other-worldly monstrosity that Sauron had assumed.

And yet, the guardian was nowhere to be found. The Door stood seemingly unguarded in the darkness.

This made Sauron ill at ease. Surely the creature was around here somewhere, hiding from him most likely, and that was either cowardly or indicative of some kind of strategy that Sauron could not guess.

So he called out into the darkness, “Come out and face me, guardian! I have come back and I wish to challenge you again, one final time!”

The eerie blackness hummed in the usual way. There was no other response.

Angry now, Sauron called again, “Let us see who is the victor now, Creature of the Valar! Come out!!” He roared again.

Suddenly, Sauron saw a shadow flicker against the door. The shadow looked like nothing more than a disembodied spirit at first, then it slowly materialized into a grey-ish looking lump. For a moment, Sauron was not sure if the thing was flesh or something else.

Then the lump began to move. It rolled over until it was lying supine and Sauron could discern a face against the mound of grey. The face looked like that of a mortal man, not the immortal grace of the Vanya that Sauron remembered. The skin on that face was decrepit, like Sauron had observed in mortal men who were passed their prime in years and were slowly decaying from old age and illness.

The man in front of him heaved a heavy sigh. At first Sauron thought the creature had died. Before he could process any of the information in front of him, the old man surprised him and began to speak.

“What do you want?” The man’s voice sounded like a long wheezing breath, but it was a high tenor that Sauron remembered distinctly in some way. Could this be...?

The old man continued, “You have come all this way to the Door to challenge who...? Me?” He coughed once, a dry kind of laugh. Then his eyes opened. They were pure white, no pupils or irises. Unmistakable.

“So,” the old man propped himself up into a sitting position and continued to speak. “Do you wish to take up arms against me, then?” There was mirth in his features. This creature was laughing at Sauron, seemingly amused at the turn of events.

For his part, Sauron could not make sense of what was going on. He stared at the old man in front of him and slowly put the pieces together. It was hard to deny that this decrepit mortal bore some similarity to the shape-shifting guardian Sauron had faced in front of the Door last time. But what could have happened to such a powerful creature, to become this thing that was barely hanging onto life?

Confused, Sauron managed, “Who...are you?”

The old man shrugged. “I don’t know. I guard this door.” He gestured vaguely to the Door that he leaned against. “That is all I do, all I have ever done, and I know nothing more.”

“Are you...” Sauron sputtered, his Balrog’s fire dwindling as his thirst for battle subsided. “...the creature I faced here last time?”

The old man frowned. “Last time? What last time? I have been here for ages and I do not remember you. I think I would have remembered, friend. Your body is...memorable, I should say.” He looked Sauron’s form up and down, counting the appendages quietly. With a click of his tongue, the old man shook his head. “Can’t imagine where you came from, looking like that...”

Sauron regarded his own form in all its hideousness. The purpose of this form was to seem menacing, but facing this man now Sauron just felt foolish. He ignored the anger that flashed through him at having been usurped like this, the body he had crafted so meticulously coming to naught. He fought those feelings and wordlessly changed shape into his usual form, the lieutenant of Angband, as he had first appeared when Melkor was brought to the Door.

Seeing this new shape, the old man hummed in recognition. “Oh, I see. Yes, I remember now.” The man smiled like he was greeting an old friend. “So. It’s you again.”

“You remember me,” Sauron said. “So then you truly are the same creature I faced here years ago.”

“The same,” the man said with a sigh. “But not as you remember...?”

“No, indeed not. What...happened to you?” As unexpected as this conversation was, Sauron felt himself in need of more than a few answers. He just needed to know.

“Age, I suppose. Years have passed since you were last here. This is the way my body carries the years, bearing each one in full until they begin to wear on me.” He waved a wrinkled, loose-skinned arm in front of him for demonstration. “How long has it been actually...? Do you know?”

Sauron thought for a moment. As an immortal and an Ainu, he had no need to keep track of years, but the reckoning of the creatures of Middle-earth for marking time had not escaped his notice. He supposed, by their account of things, it had been well over a thousand years. Close to two thousand, but not quite. This was not an incredibly long time on Middle-earth, especially for Sauron who had existed since the Music, and even the elves could withstand two thousand years without any distraction. They too were immortal, carrying the years internally instead of physically. Sauron marveled at the injustice that the Firstborn would be granted such long life whereas the guardian, one of the most powerful creatures Sauron had known, was not.

“So you are mortal?” Sauron asked eventually.

“Yes, I suppose. I think my time spent guarding this door is coming to an end, and when that happens I think I will no longer exist in this world. That...” He closed his eyes in pleasure. “...would be a great relief.”

“Relief?” Sauron asked, appalled. “You would be relieved to relinquish your existence? You, a creature who possessed such power on a time? How can you accept this? It is...such an insult given to you by the Valar and the Creator!”

The old man said nothing for a while, eyes closed, with the same look of pleasure on his face since he had mentioned his own death. Sauron wondered if the man had even heard him. As the silence wore on, the lieutenant felt unsure of what to do next.

Finally the guardian spoke again. “I was created by the Valar for one purpose: Guarding this door. Each of the Valar had a hand in creating me. All of them. I was their collective child, a being created once the need for such a creature became apparent. As for what I am called, that I do not know. No name was ever given to me. Where my powers come from, that I also know not, other than what I can guess about how the Valar designed for me to have such powers. They did not design for me to live forever, though, as I am really just an imitation of the creatures that already exist in this world. Instead, they designed for me to be worn out by my life spent standing by this door and eventually pass into infirmity and, yes, death.” He opened his eyes at last. “Once I am gone, another creature will come to take my place and stand before this door for the rest of its life in turn, remaining ever vigilant over what passes back and forth between these realms. You, my friend, have come at the changing of the guard.” He smiled warmly at Sauron.

“But why?” the Maia demanded. “Why create a mortal creature to do such a deed? That necessitates a ceaseless round of life and death. But an immortal being, whose power does not dwindle, could stand here endlessly and would never weaken...”

“I think,” said the old man pensively, “that mortality is the Valar’s greatest kindness towards me. I have lived a weary, mysterious life, never knowing anything of the world other than this place. I have never entered the Door nor have I ever left its side. The Door itself and the humming energy from the voids beyond have been my only companions these long years.” The old man’s words sounded very sad. Then he added brightly, “Except of course for you, friend.”

“Me?” asked Sauron.

“Yes, you following me up here was the most excitement I ever had. It is good to see you again, I must admit.”

Sauron paused for a moment and considered this creature’s words. If it was true, that the guardian’s life had indeed been so boring and lonesome, then perhaps it made sense that he would long for death. And yet, of the creatures Sauron had known who wished to die, creatures who spent too many years as slaves or as prisoners rotting in the torture chambers, the guardian did not seem broken in any way. It seemed as if he had accepted his fate and decided to see it through to the end, without any malice intended towards his enemies. Actually, did this creature even have enemies? He called Sauron a friend and regarded the Valar with respect.

It was unfathomable to the Maia, who decided quickly that the needs and wants of this creature were irrelevant to him. So Sauron responded briskly to any indication of warmth from the guardian.

“Let me tell you my intentions, guardian,” Sauron began. “I wish to enter the Door now and reunite with my master who has spent the last age in the voids.”

The old man looked confused. “Your master?” Slowly, realization dawned on his face. “Oh, yes, I remember now...that creature I threw in there all those years ago. He was your master?”

“Yes.” No need for any further explanation.

“You know, I am not supposed to allow anyone passed me...” the guardian smiled slyly. “...you must know that because of the last time you came. I told you never to come back, but I guess you did anyway. Admirable, I’ll give you that.”

The old man sighed and stretched. Sauron thought about what to say next, wondering if the guardian was making up his mind or if he was simply toying with him. Eventually the guardian asked a question.

“What will you do once you find him? Your master, I mean. What will you do when you find him in there--and that’s more of an if, I might add. Creatures of the physical world cannot survive in the voids, that much I know.”

The guardian’s words ran cold through Sauron’s spirit. “I...must give him something.”

“Give him something? Like what?”

“Something of mine...” Sauron trailed off intentionally.

For a long moment, the guardian scrutinized the Maia, boring into him with those intense white eyes. It was not frightening, but Sauron found it curious, like the creature was trying to read his soul and tell if his intentions were good or evil. Sauron himself did not know what the guardian would find.

“Well...” the guardian spoke slowly but with new energy. “I cannot tell what your true intentions are. You’re a servant of the master who’s locked in the voids, that much can be proven, but what it is you want to do once you’re in there with him...that only you know.”

The old man sighed. “But, go ahead. You can go in. I’m powerless to stop you anyway.”

Momentarily speechless, Sauron stared at the guardian in disbelief.

“No trickery here,” the guardian said, struggling to his feet. He walked shakily to Door as if his legs were made of brittle twigs. After inhaling deeply, the old man used some hidden reserve of strength to pull the Door open. Blackness poured out as he did so, much in the same way Sauron remembered.

“In you go,” the old man said, not even bothering to look at Sauron as he moved away and heaved himself down into a sitting position. “Can’t promise you’ll find what you expect, though. I shall remain here, perhaps fading into my spiritual form to pass the time.”

Sauron stared into the blackness. So, the guardian was just going to let him go in without hinderance. Perhaps it was more of a death sentence, he thought. There was no telling what would happen in there.

Peering down at his hand, Sauron glimpsed the gold on his finger. It was still gleaming even in the face of the all consuming blackness. He ran his thumb along the band of the ring and walked towards the Door. His desire to be reunited with Melkor loomed large in his heart.

_Ash nazg thrakatulûk..._ The words again in his mind...

“Good luck!”

Sauron gave a start. He looked back at the guardian, who had startled him from his reverie and was now sitting with a warm grin on his face, waving slightly. The old man was offering encouragement and luck to Sauron. Such madness.

Turning away silently, Sauron entered the voids.

______________________________________________________________________

The blackness of the voids sought to penetrate him in every way possible. He felt the flesh of his physical body prickle as it came in contact with the black energy, which was like a living entity itself. It ran over every inch of him, trying to corrupt his own energy until it matched that of the blackness. The inherent power of the blackness was enticing in a strange way though. Sauron was surprised to feel pleasure seeping through him. He had never before come in contact such raw, untainted energy and being consumed by it felt a bit like making love...For a moment Sauron thought about letting the blackness do as it wished, just to see what would happen.

But no. He would not yield to this power from the other realm so easily. That would defeat the whole purpose of being there.

Sauron focused on his own energy. He envisioned the ring and its beautiful force, his own strength as an Ainu...a wave of spiritual energy coursed through him and the blackness crept away from his body. He had successfully fought it off for the time being, but he knew the blackness would try to consume him again if he let his guard down.

It was almost impossible to gain a sense of direction in the voids. Once he was free of the blackness, Sauron could finally see his surroundings. Indeed, the voids were a separate realm, but they bore some similarities to Arda. There was ground that he could discern, like an endless sea of black marble, and sky apart from that, a dark swirling grey mass. The sky reminded him of clouds and of the ocean at the same time; it was cloud-like in substance but it pitched and turned so much like the ocean that Sauron could believe it was possessed by the wrath of Ossë. He saw no sun or moon, no light source at all in fact, but the sky’s grayness was light enough for him to see where he walked. His footsteps echoed on the marble, much louder than he would have thought possible, as he moved aimlessly around the voids. Ever in his peripheral vision was that writhing black energy, seeking to consume him should he let it, but whenever he turned his head to stare at it fully he found it was gone. The blackness travelled only at the edges of his sight, like a quiet but threatening reminder of where he was.

Sauron walked aimlessly. He tried to find some sign of his lord’s presence, but he could detect nothing. The voids were so vast. The realm stretched on seemingly without end or variance, but Sauron had an instinctual feeling like there was something he was missing. He could sense, ever so slightly, a familiar presence somewhere, perhaps farther in. So the Maia walked searching for the source of this feeling, however faint it was.

Eventually Sauron came upon a chain. He spotted it on the ground, coiled and broken. When he approached this chain, Sauron recognized it instantly as Angainor, his lord’s heavy burden. Far from unbreakable though, Sauron could see various parts on the chain where it had been marred. Whole chain links were missing, pieces of metal lay apart from the chain’s body. Clearly something had happened to render Angainor so ineffectual, Sauron only hoped his lord had not suffered the same fate.

At least, Sauron thought, his lord was no longer a prisoner of this wretched chain. He cast it on the floor with a loud clang. The sound echoed outward. As the echo faded, Sauron heard another sound coming from somewhere else in the voids. The sound was only a faint rustling, but it was more than he had encountered so far, so the Maia headed in the direction of what he heard.

The air around him thickened. What he had assumed was the sky became a haze that surrounded him on all sides. It became very difficult to see, but Sauron could feel that distinct presence that had driven him onward, so he continued to move forward almost blindly.

Suddenly an image of Melkor appeared in his mind’s eye. He closed his eyes and focused on the thought. He could see Melkor as he remembered him, the dark figure he had become when he bore the name Morgoth. When he concentrated harder, the image changed and Sauron saw his lord as he once was, the mighty Vala that had taken up all of Sauron’s attention during the marring of Arda. He realized then that the presence driving him forward was Melkor’s and that his lord was somewhere nearby.

Almost involuntarily, as he had done when his spirit came in contact with Grond during the War of Wrath, Sauron spoke his lord’s name aloud.

“Melkor.”

A voice answered him. “But...how can you be here, Sauron?”

The Maia opened his eyes. Almost immediately, he wished he had not. The being in front of him was most certainly his lord, but the Vala appeared rather changed. The physical body that had been his carnal prison for so long could not withstand the black energy of the voids. Whole pieces of Melkor’s body had fallen away where it had given into the consuming force, leaving large portions of sheer blackness over many parts of his form. Sauron saw half of his lord’s face in shadow, a missing leg, a portion of his torso gone, and many other black cracks running along his already scarred body.

Sauron took in the sight. This was indeed the farthest his lord had ever fallen, to be missing pieces of his body and still remain trapped, but at least Melkor’s spirit was not lost. His presence was what had guided Sauron to him, so that meant his lord’s essence was still intact.

After the initial shock subsided, Sauron was flooded with relief. He had found Melkor at last, finally after everything that had kept them apart since the last war. Sauron was overjoyed to see him again. He wanted to embrace his lord immediately, but he read Melkor’s face and saw confusion and pain there, which Sauron could not abide.

“My lord,” he began, with care. “I have come at last. I can only offer my deepest apologies along with my personal shame that it has taken me so long to be here.”

Melkor stared at him. The Vala had been wandering the voids for what seemed like an eternity, much longer than the time he spent in Mandos’ prison, it felt. He did not care about what had happened to his physical body, what use was that form to him now. The true torture was the loneliness of the voids. Here he was completely disconnected with Arda, and Arda was his whole reason for being. The severance of his soul from the physical world had caused him such anguish. Seeing Sauron now was inconceivable. But he could not deny that he had envisioned this very thing happening, many times in fact, where his ever-faithful lieutenant managed to find a way to him even here.

Melkor’s spirit throbbed suddenly as he realized that Sauron had fulfilled his lord’s wish, even though Melkor had never given him the order. Here was his Maia, strong and loyal as ever, at his side once more. Sauron gave him a confident smile, one that Melkor had imagined many times for comfort since being thrown in the voids.

It was enough. Melkor gave a cry and rushed over to his lieutenant. What was left of his body collided against Sauron in an overly forceful embrace. The Vala buried his face into the Maia’s neck and inhaled his scent, feeling Sauron’s physical and spiritual essence again. He instantly felt invigorated to be in contact with something again, especially Sauron, the one whom Melkor had harbored unique and relatively secret feelings over for some time.

Reveling in the contact himself, Sauron wrapped his arms around Melkor. With sadness, Sauron recognized the places on his lord’s body where Sauron’s hand brushed over nothingness in parts that should have held sturdy flesh. He felt shadow brush his chin as Melkor rubbed what remained of his face against Sauron’s neck. Yet his sadness was overcome with gratification when he felt Melkor drinking in his scent like a man dying of thirst.

After standing like this for some time, Sauron broke the silence by saying, “Come, my lord, let us get out of this damned haze.”

So the Maia wrapped his arm underneath Melkor’s shoulders and bore him to a place where the mist was not so thick. Now in relative clarity, Sauron could see the damage his lord had sustained in full. But in the Maia’s eyes, he could also see the beauty of the Vala that still remained. Even now, with whole chunks of his body missing, Sauron would swear that Melkor was still the loveliest of the Vala as in ages past.

The two regarded each other tensely in the grey light. Sensing in his lord a desire for more contact, Sauron pressed his lips against Melkor’s, ignoring the shadows that ought not have been there. He had sensed rightly, of course, and Melkor gave a small moan against the kiss, feeling again the wonderful intimacy of physical contact.

Sauron laid kisses over every inch of his lord that remained intact. Melkor writhed beneath him, lost completely to the sensations. It was as if no time at all had passed since they had made love in Angband all those years ago. It became clear to both of them that those feelings had never subsided, not in the least. Sauron was happy to learn this, yet sad to think of all the time they had wasted back then not being intimate.

“I was too proud then, Sauron,” Melkor said, guessing at Sauron’s thoughts and giving voice to something he had kept hidden for too long. “Too proud to admit that...I needed you.”

Sauron stopped for a moment and looked up into his lord’s eyes.

Melkor stared at him and continued, “And now...” he gestured down at his body. “Well, look at me.” The Vala gave a sardonic smile.

Sauron was honestly touched that Melkor had ever admitted his true feelings in such a way. Still, none of what happened then mattered any more. Their paths had lead them both to this point and the moment was glorious. So he said only, “I understand, my lord. Let us enjoy the time that we have together now all the more.” He plunged his head downward again and kissed all across Melkor’s chest, pushing back the ragged black robe to kiss naked flesh.

Melkor hissed and clutched a hand to the back of Sauron’s head, almost overwhelmed now by the pleasurable attention. “But Sauron...” he said, using much effort to speak. “...my body is falling apart. I do not know what will happen when all of it...is finally gone...”

Sauron heard his lord’s words, but did not stop what he was doing. Finally, he ran his tongue slowly up the length of Melkor’s tender stomach, causing his lord to cry out again. When their eyes met once more, the fire in Sauron’s gaze was flickering with intense excitement.

“I have something I want to show you, my lord.”

Melkor was surprised at the casual way his lieutenant spoke. Sauron was certainly the last of the Maiar in his service to abandon the old way of speaking. Perhaps the world had changed even more since Melkor’s absence. Besides that, they had no need of such formalities anymore.

“What is it?” the Vala asked, suddenly curious.

Sauron held up his hand that wore the ring. The gold caught Melkor’s eye immediately. He sensed a new spiritual energy coming from the ring. He felt confused, what kind of force lay within this simple piece of jewelry?

Seeing that he had his lord’s attention, Sauron took the ring off and held the band up between his thumb and forefinger. He admitted to himself that he was showing off a bit, such was his love for the ring.

As the ring gleamed even in the dismal light of the voids, Melkor scrutinized what his lieutenant was showing him. Under the Vala’s intense gaze, the ring shimmered as if in flame, words in Tengwar appearing clearly across the band. Of course, the Vala could not read or understand what was written there, but he felt a burning intensity emanating from the ring and it reminded him of Sauron’s own spiritual essence.

Now Melkor was even more curious. “What is this, Sauron? Have you made this?”

“I have, my lord. I made this in a mountain of fire, one of only a few that still remain in the world.” And so he told Melkor a little bit of what Middle-earth was like and Melkor for his part was completely enthralled by Sauron’s words, eager to hear anything about what had happened to his beloved Arda.

Finally Sauron continued to tell about his ring. “This, my lord, gives me power beyond any imagining. When I wear it, my spirit shines gloriously and I am invincible. The First and Secondborn alike tremble even at the idea of such a thing. The last time I wore it, I was able to break into the minds of sixteen creatures at once, reading their thoughts as if they were my own...”

Melkor narrowed his eyes and watched the ring as Sauron spoke. He heard all that his lieutenant said, but felt a strong misgiving at the fact that Sauron had not yet told him how he made such a thing. Melkor read all the signs and figured out the answer.

“Sauron,” Melkor said suddenly, interrupting his lieutenant’s monologue. “You put part of your spirit into this ring to give it such power, didn’t you?”

Sauron paused for a moment, not surprised that Melkor had guessed the truth. “I did...”

“You fool!” Melkor turned suddenly angry. “How could you be so reckless as to split your own soul and embalm it into this small bit of gold?! What would have happened if this ring was stolen, or worse, destroyed? Where would you be then, Sauron?!”

“I...know not.” Even though he was being reprimanded, and perhaps rightly so, Sauron still felt some measure of pride that Melkor was thinking about the repercussions the ring might have against Sauron’s being before anything else.

“I guess you didn’t think about that, then.” Melkor sighed in frustration. “You are too foolish, Sauron. What impulse was it that drove you to do such a thing? You wanted to best the arts of the Firstborn, I understand that, but it serves no purpose to split your soul to prove to them that you are indeed the strongest. They should fear you just because you exist, Sauron! Not because you bear any golden trinket.”

Sauron bit his tongue against any argument about the crown of Silmarils that Melkor had worn for centuries, mostly because he himself had not realized that connection until now.

“Hmph,” Melkor said. “You have a lot to learn about what it means to be a true lord.”

Sauron left it alone. He was ready to reveal his new intentions for the ring.

“Of course, my lord, you are right. Back when I made this ring, I did not know what purpose it would serve and perhaps I was...over-eager. But now...” He smiled again with his usual confidence, flames leaping outward from his eyes. “Now I know what this ring’s true purpose is.”

“And what is that?” Melkor was unaffected.

“Allow me, Lord.”

Without saying anything else, Sauron reached for Melkor’s hand, the one that still remained. Holding his lord’s hand aloft, Sauron kneeled down and slid the ring onto Melkor’s finger.

_...agh burzum-ishi krimpatul_. In the darkness, bind them.

When the ring rested comfortably on Melkor’s finger, its power was bestowed onto the Vala. A rush of energy, a truly dark force that could have only come from Sauron’s own soul, surged through Melkor. Because of the likeness between the ring’s essence and Melkor’s own, a great deal of energy passed between them. Almost instantly, the Vala disembodied.

Sauron marveled at the beautiful sight of his lord’s spiritual form, something he had not seen in ages. Melkor’s spirit looked like a grey shadow at first, then slowly more power returned to the wispy tendrils of his spiritual essence. Grey turned into light yellow, then orange, then fiery red like an unquenchable flame. Flecks of blue appeared in the flame and turned into whole rivets of pale blue that ran throughout his spirit, like lines of ice running impossibly through hot fire. Such was the ferocious and enigmatic quality of Melkor’s released spirit.

Melkor let his spirit grow large, expanding as far as he dared within the confines of the sky above them. Then he swept downward, finding Sauron and moving through him, pulling the Maia’s spiritual form out to join him. They entwined, as two Ainur, uniting until one spirit was indistinguishable from the other. It was a combing of essence, so much like making love, and both had hungered for this final stage of intimacy. They felt completely filled with each other, absorbing one another’s memories and desires all at once. The act healed Melkor even further.

When it was done, which was decided entirely by Melkor, the spirits separated. Sauron found himself suddenly in a flesh body again, unaware of how or when that happened. Feeling himself in the confines of skin again, now bereft of Melkor’s divine energy that had so consumed him a second ago...it was bewildering. The Maia staggered for a moment and fell to one knee.

Sauron was also feeling an honest loss at being separated from his ring. Combining in spiritual form had been enough, but now, when they were two separate beings again, he could feel a distinct pain at being apart from it. When Sauron happened to look up, though, he was rewarded with another glorious sight.

His lord stood before him wholly intact. All traces of darkness were gone from his physical body. Even more so, Melkor appeared as Sauron remembered him from the first time they met in Arda. Long orange hair (not quite magma, but perhaps a steady flame) flowed behind him in a state of motion, his eyes pure blue, with fire and ice moving about his shoulders and elbows freely. No scars marked his body, and Sauron noticed immediately that Melkor looked sturdier; he could discern muscles rippling underneath creamy flesh. He wanted to run his lips over that flesh and taste the newness of this form with his mouth, feeling the sting probably of an icy burn as he did so...

Seeing Melkor again as the god of fire and ice filled Sauron with intense desire. Lust filled his fiery eyes and he stood up, letting some of his physical form go so he could stand partially as a spirit of flame. He was feeling very much sapped of strength, having given up the ring and then being drained of some spiritual energy directly, so his fire spirit was looking less brilliant than usual.

Melkor breathed in and out slowly. Being suddenly granted his old power back was quite a heady feeling. Now he saw things and knew things that he had forgotten being trapped so long in one form. He remembered what he could do, and the first thing he desired was to merge right away with Arda so that he could fully remember what it was like to be He who Arises in Might.

Blue eyes flashing, Melkor realized that he was still in the voids. He looked down and noticed Sauron, who was caught somewhere between flesh body and released Ainu. However, laying eyes on his lieutenant awoke a deep hunger within Melkor and he recalled how Sauron’s energy had filled him with radiance and strength, first through the ring then through his spirit itself.

Melkor grinned toothily. His lieutenant had done so well. Now it was time for Sauron to be made whole.

Raising a hand to his face, Melkor regarded the ring that still rested on his finger. The gold shone brightly as ever, but it now looked a shade of orange instead of pure yellowish gold as before. Such a curious thing. After hesitating for only a second, Melkor slowly tugged the ring off his finger.

All of his power remained. His form was unchanged.

Overjoyed, Melkor bellowed laughter into the deepest and farthest reaches of the voids. That laugh was loud enough that even the Maiar who pulled the celestial bodies on the other side of the Door heard it.

Melkor held the ring between two fingers, as Sauron had done when he was showing it off. There were some changes to it. For one, the ring was certainly more orange now and it had a visible glow that resonated like a halo around the band, giving the ring a distinctly Valar-like quality. A small, cold blue line flowed across the perfect circle of the ring, replacing the Tengwar words that had been written there. Apparently some of Melkor’s essence had passed to the ring as well when they communed with each other, part of a give and take process. He recognized the fact that their energies, his and Sauron’s, had been combined within the ring.

Finally Melkor turned to his lieutenant. Sauron was looking very faint by this point, tendrils of his flame dwindling as he struggled to remain on his feet. Melkor held him by the shoulder and allowed the Maia to slump against his newly reformed body. The Vala raised his lieutenant’s hand and slid the ring back onto its creator’s finger.

Immediately, Sauron reconnected with the part of his soul in the ring, fitting a piece of the puzzle back where it belonged. His strength returned, and then some. Sauron recognized new energy entering him as he communed with the ring, one that was entirely his lord’s. Raw power coursed through him. He released once, out of sheer impulse, then reassumed his physical form so that he could speak to his lord, who stood admiring the sight of him reforming.

Excited now and finally complete, Sauron stood up to his full height and regarded his lord. He was almost as tall as Melkor, whose sudden change in height was a little surprising. Sauron was used to the small and slight Melkor that fit gracefully in his arms, but this was certainly different.

“Well done, Sauron,” Melkor said, gazing upon his lieutenant with shining eyes. “I must admit, that ring of yours has...benefits.” With that last word, Melkor lifted his arms and let some of his internal brilliance shine through his skin, like light under a veil.

“Your old strength has returned, Lord,” Sauron responded with a grin. “You are...glorious to behold.” He hoped that his adoration was as apparent as his unashamed arousal.

“Indeed I am!” Then Melkor transformed into a creature, one made solely of rock and magma, a giant golem of sorts. Sauron recognized this from times when Melkor would transform into various monsters to frighten the likes of mortals or elves, mostly to gain respect. After all, there was a certain privilege that came along with being called the most terrible creature in Arda. So Melkor showed himself as a demon at times to keep up appearances, but Sauron and the rest of the Ainur knew the dark lord best in that his true desire was to be the most beautiful and adored of all beings.

Sauron looked on while Melkor flexed and rampaged in freedom, shifting forms between the magma creature and some other hideous options. The Maia waited for his lord to grow tired with being terrifying again, still quietly admiring the originality of the forms his lord chose. Such creativity belonged solely to Melkor; he copied nothing and always created beings that had been previously unthought of by anyone else, true nightmares in their own right.

Once Melkor was finished, he approached Sauron again and reassumed his godly appearance. Sauntering over to the Maia, he grinned and stroked Sauron’s cheek seductively. Sauron closed his eyes against the touch, longing to be one with Melkor again.

“What do you think, Sauron?” the Vala whispered into his ear. “Which of my forms is the most pleasing?”

Sauron let out a long breath. Unable to stop himself, he ran his lips over the icy flesh on Melkor’s neck. “Any of them, my lord. You are lovely and terrible in all the forms you choose.”

Melkor purred in satisfaction, loving every bit of the flattery.

They stood only inches apart, but Sauron was enflamed by the feel of Melkor’s divine skin against his mouth. He grew impatient, overcome with the need to feel more. So he moved to close the distance between them, trying to run his hands over the rest of his lord’s body.

But Melkor stepped back, keeping his body just out of Sauron’s grasp.

“So eager, spirit,” Melkor taunted. “Do not forget your place...” Then the dark lord took his time, relishing the experience of torturing his lieutenant. He brought his hands up slowly to hover over Sauron’s shoulders, then he pressed one finger downward on either side, ghosting his touch across the flesh of the Maia’s arms. In this form, a single touch from Melkor could bring a mortal to its knees, such was the intensity of the Vala’s contact, and Sauron could not stifle a moan. Melkor knew exactly what he was doing and his mind flooded with ideas of new ways to tantalize his faithful servant. Sauron knew enough to keep his arms at his sides, even though they were beginning to ache with the desire to reach out.

“We have all the time in the world now, Sauron,” Melkor said in a low voice. He brought his hands lower to trail agonizingly against Sauron’s thighs. “I am going to make this last.” With that, he touched the stiff member between Sauron’s legs one time, for only an instant, causing his lieutenant to tremble.

And so, Sauron was subjected to Melkor’s seemingly endless teasing. He endured painfully brief touches, small licks here and there, and words carefully chosen by Melkor that set his soul aflame. Now that they had joined souls for a time, they each knew instinctively what the other desired and it made their play very intense. When finally they did make love, Melkor allowed Sauron to penetrate him. He asked the Maia to shower him with pledges while doing so.

“Tell me how much you have missed me Sauron...” Melkor said between panting breaths. “How much did you long for this to happen...again...”

“Oh my lord,” Sauron replied, barely with enough focus to form words as he moved within Melkor’s glorious heat. “Endlessly did I desire this...I ached, but only your touch would suffice. I lived in torment, denied any release...longing for this moment...”

Driven mad with satisfaction at hearing exactly what he wanted, Melkor disembodied and passed through Sauron, reforming again when he was directly behind his lieutenant. From there, Melkor turned the tables on his bewildered Maia and entered him, switching their roles. Sauron was confused at first, but soon the feel of his lord’s divine presence moving inside his carnal body overcame him. He climaxed without warning and Melkor followed.

After they peaked, the Ainur entwined spirits again, letting their souls linger together for a long while. Time passed. The two would repeat the process of physical and then spiritual love making until sheer exhaustion overtook them. The voids resounded with their continuous union.

For a while, they were content. Neither spoke about leaving. They chose instead to enjoy a brief respite from any kind of conquest, allowing the voids to serve as a haven from the constant battle with desire that plagued them in the physical world. Of course, such desire was inherent to Melkor’s being, and in a way it was with Sauron too. So it was only a matter of time before the two decided to venture outward at last. And nothing stood in their way.

When the Door of Night opened again, the history of Middle-earth changed course. For some, it was glorious. But that assertion could be contested by others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, I took a lot of liberties with the canon here. But I hope you liked it as much as I did! The next chapter will be the last (when did that happen??) and it will be much shorter, kind of like an epilogue. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this story guys, if you've made it this far! I'm getting ready for the last round.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The alternate history of what happens after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally thought this was going to be a short, few paragraphs of a chapter, but eventually I decided that it couldn't end that way! I wanted to give some bonus portrayals of Melkor and Sauron's relationship as time goes on, as well as information about what Middle-earth would be like without the ring wars and with the new influence of Melkor after the second age. So, it's a bit longer than I expected, and it's basically just a series of vignettes. There you go!

Chapter 9 - Epilogue  
  
The third age of Middle-earth began when a dark shadow fell over the world. It happened one day, rather suddenly, and the history books record it as the day that the armies of Eregion arrived in Mordor. The elf captains stared defiantly at the Black Gate, seeking revenge for what had happened to Celebrimbor and how they had all been fooled in Ost-in-Edhil. Their war cries went unanswered by the Dark Lord himself, for Sauron was not at home that day.  
  
No sooner had the wind quietly exhaled itself from the battle standards, crests deflating in the dying breeze, then the clouds suddenly passed over the sun. The elves found the daylight gone, replaced by a cold blanket of shadow cloaking everything in sight, as far as their elf eyes could see. Fear rose anew. They thought the darkness was some trick of the sorcerer Annatar. But alas the wind picked up again and they could hear trembling in the distance. Whole mountains crumbled in the east among the Ered Nimrais, the White Mountain chain. The very ground beneath them shook as if possessed by a foreign power.  
  
It seemed impossible to ignore the coincidence and the elves had no choice but to scatter in disarray, riding far to the north and east trying to get away from Mordor. Only the older elves, those who remained from the First Age, had any idea what was happening, remembering The Enemy and the days of earthquakes long ago.  
  
The elves could not out-ride the shadow in the sky. The darkness remained for many days, months even, then finally years.  
  
Fear swept up again, the bitter terror of forces beyond the control of elves or men. Even the Númenorians were afraid of the impenetrable darkness that cast a pallor over their golden halls. Worse yet, word had spread of natural disasters throughout Middle-earth, volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, wind storms, and the like. None were safe and none knew where the next disaster would occur. Whispers of the name Morgoth crept throughout the realms, inspiring old tales of the Valar and spiritual powers that had long since been forgotten by most.  
  
No one ever dared return to Mordor. The Black Gate looked even more fearsome and strangely at home in the darkness of the sky. The evil of the gate and the land that lay beyond remained uncontested.  
______________________________________________________________________  
  
The goings-on behind the Black Gate were far from idle. Melkor and Sauron had taken up residence there after returning from the voids, reuniting the dark Vala with his creations of chaos from long ago. Yet, Melkor did not make any declarations of war, he did not order any of his creatures to leave the gates and rampage as they were wont to do. Instead, Melkor preferred to go himself and resume his habit of manipulating Arda through absolute destruction.  
  
Of course Melkor’s first instinct upon his return was to destroy Middle-earth. He felt personally wounded that time had gone on without him. The landscape had changed and the realms were unfamiliar to him. He found all of this deeply insulting, feeling in a sense betrayed by Arda, the creation that he had poured so much of his energy into during its first marring. So he set about destroying it piece by piece.  
  
Sauron merely watched as Melkor devoted himself to the task. Sauron felt great satisfaction seeing his lord defile the structures built by the elves, such upright and gaudy structures that had stood arrogantly in Lindon and Eregion and other places, defying him from the start. He took a lot of pleasure seeing their towers and palaces reduced to dust, but he knew also that Melkor needed to be curtailed a bit.  
  
One day, Sauron casually threw out, “Such a shame, though, to see Middle-earth destroyed when it had so much potential.”  
  
He stood beside his lord, who had taken the form of a hurricane and was tossing himself around Belfalas in the south. Hearing the comment, Melkor spoke as a disembodied voice from the wind storm, “Shame? What shame is there in destroying what has been done to defy me?”  
  
Melkor was in an agreeable mood that day and Sauron knew as much. His lord drew much pleasure from destroying as he did, pleasure that would most likely drive him to seek out Sauron’s body later on. That was a rewarding promise for the both of them, especially Melkor who loved when Sauron watched as he rampaged across Middle-earth, leaving his mark against the land. The Vala found it encouraging and highly arousing to be seen by his servant as such an unstoppable force.    
  
“I only mean,” Sauron said calmly, “that Middle-earth itself is no different from Beleriand and the lands that we knew in the past. How glorious it would be to rule the land and the newfound creatures of this world as if it were the old days.”  
  
The hurricane stopped. Melkor approached his lieutenant. Sauron could not see his eyes, but he could feel his lord’s energy as strong as ever, bearing down upon him. Such a wonderful feeling.  
  
“You wish to rule then, Sauron?”  
  
“Me? No, my lord.” Sauron smiled with ease. “I wish to see you as the ruler of this world. And I will be at your side as ever, ready to do whatever needs to be done.”  
  
As he spoke, Sauron stroked the ring on his finger. This was the one ring, naturally, and it never left his hand. He ran his thumb along the band and imagined not the tower of fire that he had seen in his vision, the tower in which he was the absolute ruler of Mordor, but instead he imagined the days back in Angband where he was content doing his work as the right hand of Melkor. Those were the days in which he was truly happy, when he found himself at peace with the order of things. It was all he could ask for now. Feeling the ring on his finger was a constant reminder of his union with Melkor, the way their powers had been bound together, and he would not trade that reality for anything.  
  
Understanding what his lieutenant desired, Melkor laughed gleefully, the sound exploding outward as wind from the hurricane.  
  
“Very well.”  
  
______________________________________________________________________  
  
Elves and men alike sent prayers to the Valar (creatures whose nature they could not fully understand or explain) asking for deliverance from the unending darkness. Even the Númenorians prayed to the gods upon realizing that their comfortable lives hung in the balance. An earthquake in Armenelos would be disastrous, and what would happen if a hurricane came that could topple Meneltarma? So even the Kings Men took up the Quenya tongue again and prayed, most of them not truly believing there were spirits in the west who could hear their prayers. Yet no one knew what else to do.  
  
Their prayers were not unheard. Manwë was aware of Melkor’s return, as were the rest of the Valar, but they did not make any plans to contain him, at first. It was not until Melkor made his first declaration of war that they decided to do anything.  
  
When Melkor appeared at last in bodily form, he chose an impossibly large figure frightening to behold. He stood as if made of molten magma itself, towering over Lindon to laugh in the face of the high king Gil-galad and the rest of the elves. When he spoke, Melkor made his face beautiful, hoping to inspire sheer reverence underneath all the fear. His words were blunt. He merely promised that the world would be his in due time and any wise enough to submit to his will before then could join him in Mordor. It was in Melkor’s nature to speak plainly, and he thought his offer quite reasonable if not damn near too generous. Those who joined his ranks would not be hurt---not too much, anyway, though he would have to do something about that insufferable elvish purity should any of the Firstborn flock to Mordor. Their light could be assuaged by the darkness, it was easy enough to do.  
  
Indeed, many did decide to pledge loyalty to Melkor after that. Every day more and more creatures appeared in front of the Black Gate to offer themselves to the Dark Lord’s dominion. A new race of dark elves appeared. These were elves born of the light who made the choice to serve Melkor, thus having their internal light (the gift of Varda that existed within all elves to some degree, making them adore the beauty of starlight and giving them the whimsy that was inherent to their breed) tainted and twisted into a new appreciation for the beauty of fire, as well as a cold nature that caused their eyes to turn black. Melkor spared these elves the form of the orcs, even though he found the orcs more lovely to behold. Sauron explained to him that the elves were repulsed by orcs and being trapped in such forms would hinder their loyalty to him. So he left their fair countenance, but forced their essence to do his biding. These dark elves, with their coal eyes and wild auras, grew into a fearsome race. Sauron harbored some personal pride for them, mostly because the dark elves worshipped his eyes of fire and took his gaze to be a benediction.  
  
Once Melkor had amassed a decent number of elves on his side, Manwë could stand by no longer. The Valar were dismayed and infuriated that Melkor would taint some of their creatures born of the light, especially the elves. Many men joined Melkor’s ranks as well, not least of all the Black Númenorians who came to Mordor all the way from across the sea, but this was less offensive to the Valar who knew that men had always been unreliable. Something needed to be done about the elves that had been lost to the darkness, but Manwë feared unleashing the Vanyar armies once more. Too many lives had been lost that in the War of Wrath and Manwë could not shake the feeling that his brother could be reasoned with, even though Varda and Yavanna thought him a fool.  
  
Melkor was summoned to the Ring of Doom, to come of his own volition and discuss the future of Middle-earth. He declined the offer, naturally.  
  
“Might we not even consider a parlay?” Sauron asked his lord after the offer came from Valinor.    
  
Melkor reclined smugly upon his throne in Mordor. Sauron stood next to him. There had been no argument over who would take the throne, Sauron was more than content to see Melkor seated grandly  on a throne where he belonged, and Sauron himself preferred to stand ever at the ready to any call of action. This was not to say, however, that they two did not sometimes share the throne, using it instead as a place to enjoy the pleasure of each other’s company: Melkor bent easily over the long arm of the throne with Sauron behind him, or Sauron sitting on the throne with Melkor in his lap riding his cock to fulfillment, the Vala unable to deny how turned on he was by the sight of Sauron poised like a lord.  
  
“A parlay?” Melkor responded. “What for? I have everything I need already.” He tossed his head back and stared at Sauron, imagining various times when they had shared the throne thusly. He started thinking of ways he could invite Sauron closer to him...  
  
“Well, yes,” Sauron said with a small smile. “We have everything we need at the moment and things are going according to plan. But what happens if Manwë decides to challenge us? I think the Valar are displeased with the way we have corrupted elves...”  
  
“So what if they are pleased or not?” Melkor snapped. He sat upright and forgot about anything else as a sudden spike of anger overtook him at the suggestion that he should consider Manwë’s feelings. “It’s not as if I need my brother’s permission to do what I want in this realm.”  
  
“Certainly not, my lord,” Sauron said soothingly. Sensing that Melkor was now in a foul mood, Sauron went over and sat languidly upon the arm of the throne. He looked down at his lord with a haughty expression. Melkor’s eyes flashed but his face did not change.  
  
“I only mean,” the Maia continued, “that it would be wise to consider what the Valar can do for us. Manwë did not order you to arrive in Valinor as his thrall, he asked you to come as his guest so that he can convince you to agree to a truce. He is worried, my lord. He is frightened thinking about what you can do.” Not daring yet to reach out to Melkor directly, Sauron brought his ring hand up to his own chest and then trailed the hand slowly down his front. Melkor looked on intensely as the hand travelled down to the juncture between Sauron’s legs, a place that caught Melkor’s attention immediately.  
  
The Vala flicked his gaze up to Sauron’s face. “Well, he has a right to be afraid. I have been lenient so far with his beloved creatures, but there is nothing holding me back from bringing true suffering to this world...” He reached out a finger and stroked one of Sauron’s thighs distractedly.  
  
“He knows that as well, I am sure,” Sauron said, knowing it was only a matter of time before Melkor lost control of his desires and forgot about this dilemma.    
  
After taking a brief moment to think, Melkor brought his head down to where his finger had been and began mouthing his lieutenant’s thighs in an obscene way, bringing his face close to where Sauron’s hand rested against his own groin. Eventually Melkor laid a kiss upon the ring on that hand, enjoying the fleeting sensation of brilliance that radiated through them both as a result.  
  
“Anyway, there’s no way I’m going back to Valinor. He can forget about that.” Melkor licked his lips once and continued, staring intently at Sauron’s hand as he spoke. “If he wants to parlay then he can come here. To Mordor.”  
  
Sauron smiled as Melkor removed his hand and began mouthing the spot on his body that was already hard with want, aching for his lord’s attention. It was just as well that Melkor wanted Manwë to come to Mordor for negotiations, Sauron had been banned from Valinor anyway.  
______________________________________________________________________  
  
In the end, it took quite a while for any truce to occur. Melkor sent correspondence to Valinor about his demands that his brother come to Mordor for any discussion to take place. Then correspondence came back from Valinor just as quickly relaying that such a demand was impossible, the Valar never left Aman. Melkor stubbornly sent back word that such terms were non-negotiable and for a while things were at a stand still.  
  
Finally, it was Aulë who agreed to go. He was the most unaffected out of all of them at the prospect. Seeing Melkor brought so low during the trial had put an end to any ideas Aulë might have had about his brethren Vala’s terrible power. But still, Aulë remembered the old days when Melkor had been the most creative of them all. He remembered the fantastic things Melkor could do before any of them ever thought of doing things without the Father’s guidance. He still harbored a secret respect for Melkor, though he would never speak anything of the sort aloud. And Sauron had been his own servant once upon a time, so he was not wary or suspicious of the Maia. As he left, Aulë batted away requests from his wife Yavanna that he should smite Melkor where he stood the second he passed through the Black Gate.  
  
Aulë arrived in Mordor with a flash of lightening, cracking the stone floor in the throne room where he appeared. Melkor sat on his throne with Sauron at his side. Their last memory of Aulë was a hateful one, so they stared upon the blacksmith god coldly.  
  
“I come in peace,” Aulë said at last. He was genuinely surprised at having to be the first one to speak, that was never his wont. Slightly irritated, he kept going, “I have the blessing of Manwë and the rest to decide upon an agreeable course of action for us all.”  
  
Melkor let the uncomfortable silence go a little while longer before he finally said, “Aren’t you going to say anything about my appearance? I look quite different from the last time you saw me, obviously.” He grinned. “That is quite rude of you, Aulë, to skip the pleasantries.”  
  
Aulë sighed. He had forgotten how annoying this Ainu could be. He glanced over at Sauron for a moment as if silently asking how it was possible for Sauron, such an orderly and exacting creature, to put up with his capricious lord. It was beyond reason.  
  
“Yes,” Aulë conceded grudgingly. “We are all curious as to how you have regained your powers of old. You can tell me the story if you want, though it matters not.”  
  
“No, I’ll keep my secrets for now,” Melkor replied, purposefully avoiding looking over at Sauron. “But you should not be so surprised. Have you not known me to do thusly, return from a fall with more grace than before?”  
  
“I have not known you the way that you think I have,” Aulë said darkly. “My experiences with you have a habit of being...unpleasant.”  
  
“Certainly not always, though,” Melkor countered with confidence. “Don’t you remember the old days? We worked side by side then.”  
  
“I do remember. And it is the reason I have come here, hoping that we can come to an agreement together over the matter of Middle-earth.”  
  
“Middle-earth. Since when do you all care so much about the world to the east? Are you not content languishing in peace and splendor over in Aman? You have your world and I have mine, to do with as I see fit.” Melkor’s countenance took on new seriousness as he spoke.  
  
“We tried that, of course, the last time you reigned in Arda. There were far too many consequences, as you remember.”  
  
Melkor clicked his teeth. “I remember only betrayal, Aulë. Betrayal from my own brethren against everything I had so carefully and thoughtfully constructed to be mine. That is why I tell you, turn back and leave Middle-earth to me.” He paused for a moment, then looked at to the side casually. “I will accept it as a courtesy for what you have done against me in the past.”  
  
“We owe you nothing, Melkor,” Aulë growled, legitimately angry now. “And we concede nothing to be yours by any right. We have decided to convene with you today to avoid further bloodshed, hoping not to resort to what we did last time.” The Vala’s grey eyes turned cold. “You remember what we did to your fortress, to Thangorodrim? Your orcs scattered to winds by the blades of the Vanyar? Every dragon you created fallen against the claws of the eagles?”  
  
“Not all! Not every dragon was killed that day!” Melkor was almost on his feet, overcome with hatred at hearing Aulë describe the horrible deeds that had been done against him. “Did you know that? Yes, some dragons still live. Try as you might, you all will never be able to truly stamp out my power! My influence has spread far beyond your knowledge, it will remain as a force upon this world no matter what happens to me. And I will always return, strengthened by the creatures under my sway, to claim what is mine.” A strange heat radiated outwards from Melkor, indicating that he was close to losing control over his temper.  
  
Realizing that this would only go badly, Sauron decided to speak for the first time since Aulë arrived. “We are not here to speak of what has already happened. You have come a long way from Aman, most likely begrudging us every second of that journey. There must be something much more pressing that you have yet to reveal. So, speak, what do the Valar wish to offer?”  
  
Melkor sat back in his throne after hearing Sauron’s words, remembering the reason he had agreed to this in the first place. He did not have to put up with Aulë’s needling, but he would grant the iron-clad god another few minutes to tell what Manwë would give to entreat him. That was an interesting prospect indeed.  
  
Aulë’s eyes locked on Sauron. He saw the way Sauron had read the situation and intervened, and he noticed the way Melkor calmed under his servant’s words. A brief moment of surprise passed, then Aulë understood. Sauron was the voice of reason behind Melkor’s intensity. The Maia was the force that held back Melkor’s unrestrained chaos, and probably he had something to do with Melkor’s return. The two worked in unison in a way that was most unusual for a Vala and a Maia, but Aulë could not deny that together they made quite an impressive pair.  
  
Aulë let his guard drop slightly. He was honestly glad that his former servant had been fortunate enough to find such a rewarding existence. However, Aulë rued the fact that this existence was at odds with what was best for Arda.  
  
“I see.” That was all Aulë said at first. Melkor drummed his fingers impatiently, but Sauron narrowed his eyes wondering exactly what it was that Aulë could see.  
  
Aulë spoke what it was that the Valar would agree to. Melkor would be allowed to keep all of his own creatures, as well as the creatures of the light that he had persuaded to join him, but he would corrupt no more elves. All the land in Mordor and elsewhere that belonged to them would remain, but they would not be permitted to seek out other realms or attempt to overthrow the kingdoms in the west. If Melkor was content with what he had then the Valar would let him enjoy it, but he could not attempt to gain any more.  
  
Without question, such a request was impossible for Melkor. Being content only with what he had? He laughed at the idea.  
  
It took hours for them to finally come to a shaky agreement (though even that could be considered a small amount of time for the sheer weight of the decision). These were the established parameters: Melkor would be allowed to keep all his creatures, even the ones he had tainted. From that point on, every time an elf was born the Valar would flip a coin (or roll a dice, or draw straws, some element of chance) to decide if the elf would be of the light or of the dark. Men would be allowed to decide for themselves what path they wanted to follow. Melkor would be permitted to create new races as he pleased, but there would be a limit to the number of beasts he could create (especially dragons). All the lands under his sway would remain and he would not attempt to overthrow the kingdoms in the west, but the dark elves would be allowed to establish realms of their own throughout Middle-earth. Orcs would be permitted wherever the darkness reigned. Also, Melkor would concede to drop his veil of darkness over the sky, but for a certain number of months out of the year, he would be allowed to cast the whole world into darkness again for enjoyment.  
  
In this way, they hoped that the influences of light would be counter-balanced with the influences of darkness and chaos, so that Middle-earth’s future would be decided by the lives of the creatures within it, not by the will of the Valar.  
  
Aulë left Mordor that day unsure what would happen next. In his heart though he knew that if Sauron was there to calibrate the plan according to logic, guiding Melkor’s decisions from behind the scenes, then there was a good chance Middle-earth would be alright.  
______________________________________________________________________  
  
Years passed. At first, it had been difficult for many creatures to accept the fact that darkness now existed openly alongside ordinary places, but eventually everyone settled into a kind of acceptance. Life progressed as it would, creatures fell in love and died with and without reason. Darkness it seemed was simply another facet of the world’s order. For every conflict that arose, there were those that could react. Many beings, dark and light alike, found true happiness in time.  
  
Melkor and Sauron remained in Mordor. They did not think of a future elsewhere, such was their content with life as it was. Except for a few brief instances of Melkor demanding more than his fair share of the dark elves, all of which were smoothed over by Sauron, the plan seemed to work fairly well.  
  
Melkor could dictate the goings-on of the dark kingdoms, but for the most part he did not. He enjoyed the experience of living a dignified life, moving as a spirit whenever he pleased and also enjoying the pleasures of a corporal body with his faithful lieutenant. Sauron was content merely to watch Melkor exert himself freely, and he also spent much time in the forges, crafting works for the dark elves and orcs to use with purpose.  
  
One day after ages had passed, Sauron realized that in a way they had achieved their dream of dominion, but much differently than either of them expected. He gazed around his forge. Was this the existence he had fought for?  
  
Later on, laying naked alongside his lord, Sauron voiced the question. Wrapping his arm around Melkor’s frame, he asked, “Are you content with this life, my lord?”  
  
Melkor had been resting, trying to conjure the feeling of sleep that he had experienced so often for so long. He responded irritably, “What life do you mean?”  
  
“This. What we do now, as dark Ainur of Middle-earth.”  
  
Melkor looked up. He searched for Sauron’s fiery eyes and held their gaze for a long time.  
  
“What other life is there?” That was his lord’s answer.  
  
Sauron wondered briefly if Melkor understood the weight of the question he had asked, but he dropped the subject.  
  
It was a good enough answer.  
  
  
  
  
  
The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm a sucker for happy endings. But don't you think they deserve it? I kind of do...(and even if they don't, I just want everyone to be happy, ok?). 
> 
> Thank you for reading all the way to the end (if you're reading these notes). I love all of you readers and all of the fandom around these books, so keep writing and keep reading out there! Many kindness and warm thoughts your way. Happy Angbanging!


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